#i might start doing a drawing a day just to get back in the saddle | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

imsodishy · 18 days ago

Text

Take a Step That is New

another episode of Four's Company (a series on ao3)

this episode filmed in front of a live studio audience

May 1987

The cheery chimes above the door at Dot's Dinner ting-a-ling as Steve walks in and he almost throws his stupid briefcase at it. He settles at the last minute for telling it to, “Shut the hell up,” and heads for the counter.

“Whoa, buddy, rough day?” Robin's already saddled up on a stool, Billy’s just serving up her burger and onion rings.

The boxy fan they’ve set up on the counter does nothing to dispel the muggy heat that’s settled over the city, just moves the humid air around. It also does nothing to improve Steve’s mood, sweltering in his stupid suit, he yanks at his tie until he can breathe again.

Steve claims the stool next to Robin, peels off his stuffy jacket and slams it down on the teal formica counter top with zero thought for whatever grease or condiments it might find there, then he plonks his head down next to it without acknowledging Robin, and groans like a dying seal, “I hate my fucking life.”

It’s not true, Steve likes his life. Mostly.

What he fucking hates is his job. Which makes up… some way too big percentage of his life; 9 to 5, Monday to Friday is a big chunk of the week. The heat doesn’t help.

Robin pat-pats his shoulder consolingly. He hears Billy huff at his dramatics before walking away from the sad spectacle of Steve’s life. Off in the corner Seymour, a grumpy old regular who basically lives at his booth, frowns. He’s always frowning at something though. Mostly at Steve, though not exclusively. Eddie earns his fair share of stink-eye.

Robin's hand is still on Steve’s shoulder when he can sense her lean in closer and– “Don't fucking sniff me, dude!” He snaps upright, leaning as far away from her as he can without toppling off the stool. “It's so weird.”

“Sorry! Sorry,” she says, “You seem stressed is all, and I was just checking you didn’t go crawling back to sweet lady nicotine's disgusting embrace.”

Robin’s been rabid lately on her bid to get all three of them to quit smoking. It started with a not in the house rule, and has quickly progressed to all out war on the cancer sticks. Steve's the only one who's buckled so far. He's on an almost two month streak right now, and she's been playing hard defense to keep him on it. He draws the line at the sniffing though. That is simply unacceptable.

Steve rolls his eyes, and grumbles, “I didn’t smoke,” God, he could really go for one right now though, “If I bring a lighter to work I’ll end up burning the building down.”

A strawberry milkshake clonks down on the counter in front of him as Billy basically drops it like a bomb, “Oh my God. Quit! Just quit your stupid fucking job that you hate!” he explodes, “I cannot listen to your sad-sack, bitch-baby, whining about it anymore.“

Steve pulls his milkshake in close just in case Billy tries to confiscate it for bitch-baby behavior. “I can’t just quit,” he whines.

Billy just rolls his eyes and doesn’t try to take Steve’s one joy away from him. “Why? Because your Dad got it for you?”

And like, yeah, but Billy doesn’t have to be such a dickhead about it.

Billy landed his job at Dot’s Diner like some kind of magic. Seriously, their first day in New York, they hadn’t even unpacked any of the boxes they'd schlepped into the house when Billy dusted off his hands and said, “I'm gonna get the lay of the land,” and walked out the front door.

He came back six hours later with a job and a peanut butter milkshake. It took him a month after that to tell them where he worked, and he tells them frequently that he's regretted it everyday since he caved. They do spend a lot of time there bothering him, despite the fact he refuses to give them freebies. His boss, Sal (who reminds Steve a lot of Benny from the diner back home, if he had about two dozen extra tattoos, like they both rolled off a big, gruff, diner proprietor assembly line somewhere), is actually way more likely to sling them a free coke or some fries once in a while.

“We could find you another job,” Robin says, as she’s been saying for months, “One that makes you at least sixty percent less arson-y, guaranteed!”

Robin got her job at the campus bookstore through student services, (obviously not an option for Steve), although, with the first year under her belt, she's talking about looking elsewhere for employment, since the school pays them peanuts anyway, and she thinks she'll be able to balance her schedule better now on her own.

The door chimes jangle crazily as Eddie bursts into the diner, “Outstanding news chums!” he booms, ignoring Seymour scowling in his direction.

“Easy on the door, Munson,” Billy warns.

Eddie shuts the door with exaggerated care, before he hustles over to the counter and hops up on the stool on Robins other side. He gives himself a drumroll, rattling all the flatware on the counter. Old Seymour’s glare intensifies.

“I have news,” he repeats, flipping his cup right-side-up for Billy to fill with coffee he doesn’t need, upcoming nightshift at the bar or no.

Robin takes a guess, “You talked to you boss about getting the time off for the Hawkins trip?” she doesn’t sound that hopeful.

And for good reason. “What? No,” Eddie dismisses her with a flapping hand, “I have an audition with a band!”

“Gasp,” Robin says flatly. The only news Eddie gets this excited about is when he's auditioning, or sitting in, or has a lead on some new band seeking a guitarist.

Eddie, by his own account, got his so-called day job (it’s nights, bar-backing) by just hanging around the bar/music venue he frequents all the time, bothering the bartenders (and selling them weed) until one of them slapped a rag in his hand and told him to make himself useful. Which suits him just fine to fill time while he chases his music dream.

“Look, I'm going to Hawkins either way,” Eddie tells her with a carefree shrug, “If Rosco won't give me the time off I'll just quit and get a new job when we get back.”

“See!” Billy says, slamming the coffee pot back into it's cradle, “You see how easy that is, Harrington? You lose a job, then you get another one. C'est la fucking vie.”

Eddie leans around Robin to look at Steve, “Oh-ho. Did the little Lord Harrington finally break free from the yuppie rat race?”

“No,” Steve says, and slurps a big sip of his milkshake.

Steve didn’t get his own job at all, obviously. It was already lined up for him before they even rented the moving truck. It came pre-approved for him courtesy of his father and his father’s business connections. Steve's been working there for almost a year now, but he's still not entirely clear what they do.

It's real-estate... kind of? The company buys properties, but they do it by selling shares in the properties to other companies, then they use that money to pay construction companies to tear down those properties and build new ones on the land. Those construction companies use that money to buy steel and other building shit from Steve’s dad’s plants back in Indiana (and Michigan). Then Steve's bosses sell the whole shebang for several butt-loads of money for them and their investors to start the game all over again.

Steve’s job largely seems to involve standing around, insuring their side of the boardroom has the most men in suits at all times, and occasionally kissing investor ass. He’s a Junior Account Associate somehow.

It’s soul crushing.

“Aw, cheer up, Stevie,” Eddie says, slapping him on the back, “Look on the bright side, at least you can always keep our beer fridge stocked with that fat paycheck of yours.”

Robin does Steve the favor of smacking Eddie upside the head.

Steve decides to change the subject, “What’s the band called, Ed?” he asks, because that’s always good for a laugh at least.

Eddie holds his hands in front of his face like he's framing a marquee, “ God of Gore ,” he announces in a theatrical growl.

Steve snorts to himself. Yeah, that’s good shit.

“And,” he goes on, voice rising in pitch as he gets more hyped up, “Get this, their last guitarist up and moved to Indiana! How's that for kismet? It's fate, I tells ya!”

“Who would willingly move to Indiana,” Billy wonders, “The whole state's a toilet.”

Not at all bothered by the shit talking of their home state, Eddie hops down of his stool and announces, “Speaking of which, gotta drain the snake.”

While Robin is busy grimacing at that, Eddie wiggles incredibly unsubtle eyebrows at Billy. He gets a, much more subtle, jerk of the chin back, so Eddie slips right past the bathrooms and into the kitchen, and doubtless out the back door to smoke in peace, away from Robin’s judgmental gaze. He’s made vague, placating noises at her about cutting back, but he’s just been sneaking around behind her back, with Billy as an accomplice.

Billy might be smoking more out of spite.

Eddie's whirlwind act really made Steve feel like the sad-sack Billy accused him of being, and he’s sick of that feeling, gets more than enough of it everyday at work.

All the silverware rattles as he slams a decisive hand down on the counter, much to Seymour’s ire. “You know what I think would make me feel better?” Steve asks loudly and rhetorically.

He shoves away from the counter and heads straight for the jukebox.

“No!” Billy booms, pointing at Steve like he’s a cat on the counter.

Steve backs slowly down the aisle, facing Billy the whole way with big, guileless eyes. “What's that?”

“You’re still banned for Bryan Adams crimes.” Honestly, Steve’s probably got a couple bans stacked at the moment. Billy doles them out liberally.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Hargrove,” Steve bumps into the jukebox because he still won’t turn away from Billy’s impotent glare. It's great, his ears are going red.

“I call the shots here,” he tries, fruitlessly.

“No you don‘t, Sal does,” Steve snorts, “And, anyway, I am a private citizen, this is a free country! My dime is as good as anybody’s!” He's been spending too much time with Eddie.

Billy throws a spoon at him.

Steve cackles as he plugs the jukebox. There’s a couple beats of bassy synthesizer.

Billy tells him, “You’re a monster,” with feeling.

Then— “ Watching every motion in my foolish lover’s game.”

Steve slow dances back towards the counter, swaying to the dreamy beat of the bum-bum-bum-bubums, high on the joy of being deeply annoying. He slides back onto his stool just in time to dramatically sing along to, “ Take my breath awaaaaay,” right in Billy’s face. It's gone all red now, like the cherry on Steve's shake, which he happily pops between his grinning teeth.

“It’s not my fault Sal won’t put Mötley Crüe in there,” Steve says, munching happily on his cherry.

Billy storms off into the kitchen.

“Someday,” Robin muses through he mouthful of fried onions, “he’s going to feed you a floor burger, and I’m not going to stop him. This song is sincerely awful.”

“I like it,” Steve declares.

“Of course you do.” Robin pats his hand condescendingly.

She swivels on her stool to face him, a concerned little furrow in her brow, and ketchup on her cheek. “Seriously though, Steve, we could find you a different job. No problem. You got the job at Family Video, and Scoops before that.” Robin got him the job at Family Video, and he only got the job at Scoops because the first guy they hired showed up to the training stoned, but it’s nice of her to say. “You don’t need to stick it out because of your dad, you don’t need his help. It’s not your only option or whatever bullshit you’re worried about. You can get a different job. And, okay, no it wouldn’t pay as much, but you'd get by.”

Robin wasn’t Steve’s first real friend or anything like that, he wouldn’t even say she’s his first good friend . But she’s definitely his best friend. Steve lays a hand over her slightly greasy one on the counter, and furrows his brow right back at her, “But then, Robin, who would keep the beer fridge stocked?”

She rolls her eyes and turns back to her burger, “So we'd have to bid goodbye to Daddy Beer-bucks, we'd survive.”

They would. Robin, Billy, and Eddie are resourceful, and smart, and self-sufficient, they’d figure out a way get by, even with Steve hanging like an anchor around their necks. But Steve hates the idea of dragging them down. Actually can’t stand it. He literally gets a stomach ache if he thinks too hard about it. When he can hear future Robin, somewhere down the line, when she’s sick of his shit, saying You can’t expect us to handle every little issue for you, dingus, in his head, except sometimes the ‘dingus’ morphs into ‘darling’ and imaginary-Robin sounds disturbingly like his mother (which doesn’t help the stomach ache problem at all). So he needs to keep bringing in enough money to pay his way.

Steve just smiles at her.

Billy reemerges from the kitchen to make a round of his tables, giving Steve the evil eye as he goes, before settling behind the counter to concentrate on glaring at Steve despite the fact that the song is long over by now, Eddie Money is playing now. Steve raises his eyebrows at his glare, “Don’t look at me, I’m all out of dimes.”

Robin, perhaps prompted by Mr. Money asks, “Where'd Eddie go? He’s taking forever in there.”

Billy silently points over her shoulder to where they can clearly see Eddie’s hunched form cowering miserably under the diner's awning from the unpleasantly warm rain that’s finally broken after threatening all day. He’s sucking down smoke like his life depends on it. Must not have been enough shelter in the alley when the rain started.

“No!” Robin shouts, much like Billy had shouted at Steve earlier, and dashes out the door, bells cheerfully chiming her exit. Eddie takes a couple more panicked puffs before Robin gets to him and he has to start playing keep away with the butt.

Steve watches them through the window for a couple seconds like a real life version of those weird old puppet shows, “What are those puppets that–“

“Punch and Judy,” Billy answers the unfinished question.

He flicks a dime that bounces off Steve's forehead and drops to the counter with a ring-a-ting-ting. “Go put on some Springsteen, Bambi,” he says, smiling at him like he’s still a sad-sack, sure, but at least he’s one Billy’s kinda fond of, then he goes to top off Seymour’s coffee down at the far end of the other end of the diner.

For Billy alone, Seymour’s got a great big smile.

Steve has stapled his tie to his desk. Which seems like the kind of thing most people would only do by accident. Not Steve, though. No, he simply got so bored that when the thought, I wonder if I could staple my tie to this desk right now, breezed through his head he went ahead and did it.

Turns out he could, so he added a couple more staples for no better reason than the first one.

Steve feels like his brain is melting out his ears which is maybe half boredom, half the heat. The AC has been in and out all week, something about the grid according to maintenance. Turns out a cracked window and a fan isn’t any more effective on the 10th floor of a Manhattan office building than it is in a ground level diner in the Bronx.

“Harrington.” All the staples explode off his tie, flying all over his little hot-box of an office, when he jerks upright as Connor Michaels walks in to his office. The guy definitely notices the staples too, judging by the shitty little smirk on his face.

The thing about all of Steve’s coworkers is that they hate him, because he’s clearly just a doofus nepotism hire who has no business working here. They all hide it behind a veneer of polite condescension while trying to use him as a connection since his last name is Harrington, though. It’s all so pathetically exactly like high school Steve can hardly stand it.

Connor chuckles, “Tgif, am I right? Listen, I asked Laura to pull the permits for the Hell’s Kitchen property for me, but she’s on the rag or something and flipped out at me.”

The other thing about Steve’s coworkers is that they’re all douchebags.

“Okay,” Steve says to avoid stapling his smug face.

“I know she does shit like that for you all the time, so think you could work your magic?” Connor wiggles his fingers vaguely that reminds Steve of how his mom would talk about his sport’s things any time it came up.

Laura is the only exception to the douchebag rule. She’s smart, and competent, and the only woman at Steve’s level of management. She also hates Steve, but she doesn't try to hide it. She’s got integrity about it. The only reason she helps Steve with things like permits and filings is that she knows she’s the one who will have to clean up the mess if he royally screws it. She reminds him a lot of Robin in the early days of working at Scoops, just completely unimpressed by and uninterested in his King Steve bullshit.

Steve does frequently throw himself on her mercy, she’s the only reason he hasn’t caused any serious problems so far. Which is maybe the other reason she keeps helping him, because he unreservedly admits that it’s a joke that they’re on the same level professionally. And not a funny one.

Steve starts sweeping the staples that landed on his desk and not the floor into a pile, “Sure,” he says to Connor, hoping that’ll get him to leave.

No luck. Instead he tucks his hand in his pockets and settles into a slouches against Steve’s wall, “How do you manage that anyway?” he asks lightly, “You tapping that?”

Steve rolls his eyes, “No.”

Connor hums, “Yeah, not surprising. I bet she’s a dyke.”

And maybe, on a different day, when Steve wasn’t already at his boiling point both figuratively and literally, he would have responded more... diplomatically.

“I quit my job,” Steve announces as he walks through the front door of his house.

All three of his roommates turn to gape at him from the living room.

They were all lounging around in the bare minimum of clothes required for the living room with two opposing fans pointed at them in an attempt at a cross breeze when Steve arrived home with his briefcase in a cardboard box with shockingly little else in the way of personal effects in it. He really hadn’t built up much of a presence at the office over the nearly a year he worked there.

“What?” Robin exclaims, as she mutes the TV, “What happened?”

“I threw a stapler at a guy’s head.” Steve answers.

“A stapler?” Billy asks, baffled, “Why?”

Steve shrugs, “I don’t know. I mean, I also said a lot of shit, but the stapler was probably the button on it.” Steve drops his things, steps out of his wingtips, and starts tugging at his tie as he makes his way across the room, “It wasn’t even- Like, I mean, it was business as usual, really. It wasn’t anything new, and I just... lost it.” He’s down to his undershirt and boxershorts by the time he collapses between Robin and Billy on the couch with a massive sigh like a slowly deflating raft.

“Right on man,” Eddie says from his spot on the armchair, leaning over to slap Steve’s knee, “I bet that guy had a stapler to the face coming.”

He really did, Steve must concede.

“Shit, I can’t believe I quit.”

Robin makes a questioning noise, “Did you actually quit, or did they fire you? For the stapler thing?”

“Who gives shit,” Billy says before Steve can tell them he’s not actually sure technically, “It’s done and dusted either way. Which calls for a celebration!”

Billy bounces up off the couch and goes to the kitchen to collect a round of beers for everyone, he’s the only one who’s foregone a shirt so far, which is unsurprising. He pops the caps of with his ring before doling out the bottles.

“To casting off the corporate shackles!” Eddie toasts, Billy and Robin here-hereing it.

Steve takes a big gulp of his beer. “What the hell am I gonna do?” he wonders aloud.

“Celebrate!” Robin says, she’s also in a t-shirt and boxershorts, which she stole from Steve a while back for loungewear, “Like the man said.”

Steve huffs, “I meant like, longer term. The rent and stuff.”

“Don't worry, Stevie my boy,” Eddie says, clapping him on the back, “Once we find you a real person job you'll do just fine. After all, the rest of us plebs cover our fair shares with our piddly little paychecks, right?”

Steve, caught out, hesitates a beat too long (long enough for Billy's bullshit radar to ping), before saying, “Right. Sure. Yeah,” in a way that clearly doesn’t cover for him.

Billy squints at him, “We have all been covering our fair share of the rent, right, Harrington?”

Steve nods but he can’t maintain eye contact when he answers, “Right. Fair shares.”

Robin, catching on immediately, groans, “Oh god, Steve, tell me you haven’t been doing something outstandingly stupid, like paying half the rent, this whole freaking time.” When Steve doesn’t answer right away she screeches, “Steven!”

“Not half! I haven’t, okay?” he rushes to explain, “Just, like,” he holds up his fingers pinched so close together, “A little more, than you guys.”

“How much more,” Billy demands through clenched teeth.

“Well,” Steve tries to think of how best to phrase it, “Imagine we had a fifth roommate, who's rent I have also been paying.”

“So, double,” Billy’s basically growling now, “You've been paying double what the rest of us have. This whole goddamn time!” Steve hadn’t thought of it that way, but the math does check out. He thinks.

“And... also the utilities,” he admits reluctantly.

“Oh, Stevie,” Eddie says, shaking his head sadly.

“Fuck!” Billy shouts and storms off, stomping his way upstairs without anyone trying to stop him. When Billy removes himself from a situation, it’s best to let him.

“I can probably still get the job back,” Steve offers, even though the thought makes him nauseous. He’ll eat shit if he needs to, “If I tell them I was on coke or something they might actually respect me more.”

Eddie’s still shaking his head, but more decisively, “No way, man. We’re not letting you go crawling back to those corporate shitbags now, not a chance in hell.”

“No other job I can get for myself is going to pay a quarter as well, though.”

Robin backs Eddie up though, “You were miserable, Steve. None of us wants you to be miserable like that, not for any amount of money.”

Steve still can’t just let it go, though, “But without that money-

“There’s no need to panic, all we need is a plan. You’ve got savings, yeah? That’ll give us a cushion until you get a new job- we need to do a comprehensive household budget,” Robin says, like she’s already running numbers in her head, “We’ve been way too loosey-goosey about it, anyway.” Because they’ve been relying on Steve to smooth over any gaps. Not that they necessarily knew that. They’d just hit him up for beer and pizza sometimes and called it a Shill tax.

“I don’t know how to do a budget,” Steve admits with an apologetic grimace.

Eddie slings an arm over his shoulders and tries to pull him into some kind of wonky headlock while Steve resists him easily, “Don’t you fret, for you are a very lucky boy, with three wonderful roommates, whose collars are all extremely blue. We’ll show you the ropes.”

“You know what the easiest expense to cut is?” Robin says brightly, “Cigarettes.”

“You know what!” Eddie wheels on her, suddenly apparently at his limit on the whole smoking thing.

Steve watches them bicker back and forth for a couple minutes. Even though it’s clear that this has been building for a while, and of course the inescapable heat doesn’t help, Steve can’t help but feel like it’s his fault for dropping a stress bomb on their heads. Or at least it feels very reminiscent of watching his parents fight about the wallpaper when what they really want to fight about is their miserable marriage. What’s the word for that? Displacement?

Eventually he slips out, leaving Robin and Eddie to their squabbles he can’t really contribute to one way or the other and heads upstairs.

Billy's not in his room, but Steve didn’t really expect him to be.

Halfway up the flight of stairs from the second floor to the third there's a window, and outside the window is a strip of roof, about five feet wide by ten feet long, and gently sloped, covering their porch below. Billy likes to sulk out there, especially since the weather turned, though not quite so much since it turned mean.

Sure enough, the window is ajar and Steve can smell smoke.

He sticks his hands out the window, palms out, he comes in peace, “I’m coming out,” he says, “Please don’t hurl me off the roof.”

Billy doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t bite Steve’s head off either, which from him is basically an engraved invitation.

Steve hauls himself up onto the little stretch of roof, crab walking over ‘til he can plant his butt next to Billy. Even though the sun is sinking fast the heat hasn’t broken at all.

He snags the cigarette right out of Billy’s mouth as he settles next to him and takes a long, indulgent drag. He only grimaces a little at the taste, Billy and his fucking Marlboros.

“Ooooh,” Billy deigns to speak to him, snatching his smoke back, “Robin's gonna be mad at you,”

“More or less mad than when I tell her I'm not going to Hawkins this summer?”

Billy's hand freezes with the cigarette just about back to his mouth. His lips, already parted to accept it, now just hanging slack pointlessly. “Seriously?”

Steve shrugs, shooting for nonchalance, missing by a mile probably. “Figure I can do without getting the full rundown on what an embarrassing disappointment I am in person. I’m sure I’ll get the CliffsNotes from our answering machine anyway. Those were always more my speed.”

He figures they'll share a laugh at that, but when he looks over Billy's not laughing. In fact, he's not even smiling, he just takes a rough drag off the cigarette and then hands it back to Steve without prompting. “If your dad leaves any blowhard message on our machine, I’m deleting them.”

Steve’s not sure what to say to that so for a while they just pass the butt back and forth in silence until he screws up his courage to ask, "What about you? You mad at me?” with a wince, “About the rent thing.”

“Well I’m not fucking thrilled about it, Harrington.”

Yeah, that was obvious.

Billy runs an agitated hand through his hair leaving his curls, already frizzy from the humidity, even more messed up. “Thought- it felt like we were making it. Doing it for real, you know? Standing on my own two feet like a man,” he scoffs to himself, “ Stupid.”

Billy’s got a very specific tone he does when he’s quoting his dad, and Steve fucking hates it.

“You are,” Steve insists. Billy quirks an eyebrow at him, and Steve scrambles to clarify, “Making it. Not stupid. You’re making it.”

“Not without a heaping helping of charity apparently. I can’t-”

“It wasn’t charity, dickhead!” Billy’s mouth snaps shut, and thank god for that, because Steve has no more interest in hearing what Neil Hargrove would have to say about his son than Billy does in suffering through phone messages from Richard Harrington. “It just made sense. I took that stupid job from my dad, and the paycheck was the only good goddamn thing about it. And you guys have all this other stuff going on. You and Robin have school, and Eddie’s trying to do his whole music thing. I mean, what the hell else was I supposed to do with all that stupidly easy money I was barely really earning? Other than use it to buy you guys food, and beer, and, yeah, pay the fucking rent!” He’s worked up a good head of steam, but he deflates immediately in the wake of his outburst, “I mean, what the hell else am I bringing to the table here?”

Suddenly self-conscious in the silence that follows, and way too aware that he’s breathing a little heavy, Steve snatches the cigarette from Billy’s hand. Takes a huffy little puff, like someone who doesn’t know how to inhale, then takes a slower, more measured one.

“You sell yourself short, you know,” Billy says, uncharacteristically quiet. Steve looks over at him, but Billy's not looking back, he's gazing out across their neighborhood instead.

“Look,” he goes on, slow and awkward, “I don’t exactly know where I'd be right now, if not for you. But, I know I wouldn’t be here .” He throws his arms out wide to encompass all of New York City, and their whole life here.

It's not like they have a spectacular view or anything, they're not up remotely high enough for that. Their sagging little strip of roof, on their rundown building, isn’t even facing the glittering Manhattan skyline. Down below them a taxi driver is shouting at a truck that’s blocking a cross street. The humidity is oppressive and the heat makes the streets stink like garbage, and it’s not like it’s any cooler in the house.

Their whole life here? It doesn’t actually look like very much from the outside.

Steve gets it though.

He jostles their shoulders together, “You would have gotten out. You would have made it anyway.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Billy plucks the cigarette out of Steve’s grasp, kills the last of it and pitches the butt to the street below. Steve watches the glowing trail of the cherry as it falls.

“You know,” Billy says after a long stretch of mostly comfortable silence, “If you don’t go to Hawkins, you’re gonna have to let Eddie drive the beemer.”

“Shit, I didn’t think of that.” He waves off the thought, “Can’t be helped. I need to start the job search anyway.”

Steve thinks about that process for all of thirty seconds before he groans, “Man, my resume is gonna be so fucking weird.” Steve lists his employment record out on his fingers, “Scoops Ahoy, burned down. Family Video... I don’t think I gave notice at Family Video, I think I just left and didn’t come back. Kensington Group Limited, assaulted a co-worker with stationary.”

“Well, if all else fails, you know Eddie would love to fake some references for you,” Billy says, “Bet he’ll do voices and everything.”

“Just what I need. A reference from Gondelf.”

Billy snorts a laughs, “It’s Gandalf, you know it’s Gandalf.” He’s right, Steve knows that, because Eddie never shuts up about that book.

“Mmm, pretty sure it’s Gondelf. I mean, he’s an elf, right?” Billy just rolls his eyes but he’s smiling, and listing a little towards Steve.

“Billy,” Steve speaks softly, earnestly. Billy hums back a question, “Would you... get me a job at the diner?”

Billy explodes with laughter, “Fuck no!”

“C’mon,” he wheedles, through his own laughter, “We can commute together! Sal loves you. Be a pal, put in a good word for me!”

Billy punches him in the shoulder, “Sure, I’ll tell him you’re a chronic masturbator and that I’ve never seen you wash your hands.”

“Thanks, buddy. I really appreciate that.”

Billy grabs the shoulder of Steve’s shirt and rattles him around a bit like a dog with a squeaky toy, “I’m going to shove you off this roof,” he threatens through laughter.

They lapse into giggly silence and then just silent silence. Billy keeps his grip on Steve’s shirt like he’s worried he might actually go toppling over the edge after all if Billy doesn’t keep a tight hold.

Or maybe he’s just forgotten that his hand is there.

“Hey,” Steve says after a while, just to get Billy to look him in the eye, “We’re gonna be fine,” he reassures him once he has.

Billy’s undivided attention is always intense, eyes like blue lasers locked on to a target. It used to freak Steve out in high school, but he’s gotten used to it. It’s just how Billy is. Sharp like that.

Sharp enough that he reads Steve like a goddamn book and knows that as much as Steve really was trying to reassure him, he was also, maybe just a bit, fishing for reassurance too.

“We’re gonna be fine,” Billy parrots.

They stare at each other, probably for too long, sitting in a little loop of comforting and being comforted. And Steve, he believes it. They’re gonna be fine.

They have each other.

#steve harrington #billy hargrove #robin buckley #eddie munson #harringrove #(pre harringrove really but ya know)#more cross-posting #dishy writes #four's company #fic

43 notes · View notes

bluestar22x · 1 year ago

Text

July

Sweet Summer - July

Summary: An evening at the Pena ranch turns into a night to remember.

Pairing: Javier Pena x Virgin!Reader (She’s in her 30s, just late to the game)

Rating: 18+ series, explicit chapter

Warnings: Explicit smut, fowl language, reader is insecure, then not, Javi being a consent king and literally perfect.

Word Count: 5,879

Author’s Note: This is the most spicy piece I’ve ever written (appropriate for Javi) and yet also one of the sweetest. I melted writing it.

xxx

“I knew dating you was a smart choice,” you joked as you stroked the thick neck of the chestnut gelding tied up to a post just outside of the Pena barn.

One of Javier’s eyebrows shot up and he folded his arms, an expression of mock disapproval on his face. “You only dated me to get access to the horses?”

“Not only,” you replied, drawing out your words.

He chuckled and let his arms hang loose. “Well, let’s hop on. I’ve got an idea of where we could go for a nice view. Do you need a boost?”

You smirked at him and easily swung up into the saddle on the horse’s back.

“Show off,” Javier muttered, but he wasn’t annoyed. His eyes only held amusement.

He walked around your mount to get to his, a blue roan mare, and climbed onto her, his movement a bit less smooth than yours. “You confident about your riding skills?”

“It’s like riding a bike, isn’t it?” you said, not really asking. “I’m confident it’ll come back to me. See? I already have my heels down and everything.”

You both glanced at your boot covered feet in the stirrups and he smiled. “You’ve got the beginner stuff down at least.”

“So what are their names?” you inquired, scratching your mount’s neck. The gelding groaned and leaned into your touch, causing you giggle.

Javier smiled softly at the bright sound bubbling up from you. “He’s Red. And this mare’s Stormy.”

“Plain and simple,” you noted.

“Yeah, well, my dad’s a simple man,” Javier told you as he gave Stormy a pat. “You ready to head out?”

You nodded, and he led you away from the main yard of the ranch at a walk, out into open country. As you set out, you took time to bask in the fading sunlight, eyes closed, the heat from it finally tolerable.

July afternoons in Texas were often too hot to work horses, so Javier had suggested you come by later in the day for a ride, just as things were starting to cool down. It turned out to be the perfect time.

Red turned out to be perfect too, or as perfect as any horse could be anyway. You’d ridden several beginner horses in your lifetime, but none were both laid back and responsive like he was. You barely had to tug the reins to redirect his head, you barely had to dig in a heel for him to pick up his pace slightly, into a faster walk, and he had an air of calm that made you trust him like no other horse before. He made you feel confident, and that was important to have as a rider.

Javier must’ve sensed it because several minutes into the ride he suggested loping. “If we want to make it to the spot I have in mind before the sun fully sets, we’re going to have to pick up the pace. But only if you’re ready.”

You nodded. “I am.”

To prove your point, you clicked your tongue at Red and leaned slightly forward, encouraging him into a faster speed. He arched his neck immediately and his gait swiftly changed into one of a rocking motion. You were instantly reminded why the lope was your favorite horse gait. It was smooth, predictable, and yet still speedy enough to give you a thrill. You gave a yip to the darkening sky above and dared to steal a look at Javier, who had urged Stormy to keep the same stride as Red.

When you had first met him five weeks ago, you’d teasingly endowed him with the nickname cowboy, but it wasn’t until that evening, when he was riding a horse beside you, that he’d actually looked like one to you. Eyes focused ahead, seat steady, dressed in a red plaid shirt, dark blue jeans, and a tan pair of riding boots. He might have looked like he stepped right out of an old western, if he wasn’t missing the cowboy hat, but even without it, he sold it.

You felt a flame ignite in your belly as you observed him. You had a thing for cowboys, and you had a major thing for Javier. His broad shoulders, his strong nose, his large hands, his kind eyes, and his rumbling low voice. You’d found yourself totally distracted by him when Red suddenly stumbled over a rock in your path, lurching forward enough to unseat you, nearly causing you to flip over his neck. Luckily, you’d latched onto the saddle horn the split second it occurred and managed to steady yourself, a gasp flying out of your mouth as you did so.

“You alright?” Javier asked, as he slowed Stormy to walk alongside Red again, concerned.

You tilted your head away from him, trying to hide the embarrassment you had over letting your attention get drawn away from the ride. It really wasn’t the time.

“I’m fine,” you answered. “Does Red look okay? I don’t feel him limping but it’s not like I’m an expert.”

Javier studied the horse for a few moments, eyes scanning over his legs, shoulders, and hips and he shook his head. “He looks good to me. He didn’t stumble too badly.”

“Yeah, I just wasn’t paying enough attention to stay balanced,” you huffed.

Javier shrugged. “Happens to the best of us.” If he knew why you’d been caught off guard, he didn’t show it. “We’re here.”

You peered between Red’s ears and spotted a few hills up ahead, right along the border of wire fencing surrounding the Pena property. When Javier pointed Stormy at the middle hill and began climbing it, you followed suit on Red, smiling. Of course. Watching the sun set on a hill. The range of view it provided probably made it the best scenic spot on the ranch.

You were pretty certain of it after you watched the last of the sun’s rays dip behind the horizon at the top, no light left except for a few lingering streaks of gold and orange highlighting the clouds in the sky. It was far from the first time you’d seen a sunset, but it was the first time in your memory that you’d witnessed the exact moment day became night. The sight of it over the arid landscape, from Red’s back, left you sucking in a sharp breath. It was funny how something that happened every day could be so beautiful.

“You’re lucky to have this place,” you told Javier. “I’d kill for a view like this.”

He chuckled. “Hopefully not in a literal sense.”

You snorted and his expression turned serious as he sighed. “When I was a teenager, I wanted nothing more than to get away from here. I found it boring. I wanted to see the world.”

“Did you?” you questioned.

His mouth twisted into something like a grimace. “Not in the way I wanted to.”

“Do you still find it boring here?”

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But being bored isn’t the worst thing that can happen to a man.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You didn’t know what Javier had gone through during his time as a DEA agent, he wasn’t very open about it, didn’t willingly divulge much about it except occasional stories about his old partner Steve and his family. And your relationship was still too new for you to feel like you had the right to dig. You didn’t need to know, after all. Whatever had happened when he was taking down cartels in Colombia, whatever he had done, that was in the past.

You had fallen into a quiet spell after that, but it was quickly broken by your stomach growling loudly.

You felt your cheeks heat up again as Javier laughed at the noise. “Guess we should head back.”

You agreed quietly and followed him back to the ranch at a jog, as the sky darkened enough for the first stars to come out, content with not saying anything else. Javier didn’t seem to mind your silence, but he did break it as the ranch house came into view.

“Do you need to get home to feed Trix?” he inquired, his eyes darting over to you.

“No,” you replied quickly. “Actually, I had a friend take her home tonight, in case I was late getting home tonight.”

Tomorrow morning late.

Do not get embarrassed, you chided yourself mentally.

You’d been pondering over it a lot over the last week. You’d thought about how easy things were with Javier, how much you’d come to trust him in the last month you’d been dating, and how he had never asked for anything more than you’d been willing to give.

It wasn’t like a month was that long, right? But you felt like it had been long enough. Too long taking your situation in consideration. You’d decided you were ready to take the next step with him if he was, but you being you, you couldn’t just spell out your intentions for him.

The way Javier tensed in the saddle for a moment, you guessed your intent was clear enough. You reveled a little when you noticed him swallowing hard.

“So do you want to join me in the house for supper after we untack the horses?” he inquired. “I can’t promise much, I’m not exactly a cook, but I think we have some eggs I could scramble and a loaf of bread for some toast. We always have enough coffee on hand.”

“Your dad won’t mind?” you prodded. You’d figured you’d go out to eat and end up at your place, not in the ranch house shared with his father.

“He’s actually visiting his sister for the weekend,” Javier informed you. “Not that he would’ve.”

You couldn’t believe the timing. Your heart fluttered at the idea of you and Javier having the whole house to yourselves. No neighbors like at your apartment. Not a single pair of prying eyes or ears to worry about. You bit your bottom lip.

“I’d love to,” you said, hopping off Red when he was a few feet from the front door of the barn.

Javier’s lips curled upward slightly. “Great.”

He swung off Stormy’s back and guided her into the barn, leading you by example. You brought the horses into the two empty stalls at the back the barn, the other two occupied by slightly shorter horses, a paint and a dapple gray that was built very similarly to Red. You both made quick work of untacking your mounts, grooming them, and giving them hay for the night, along with the other horses.

With a goodnight kiss to Red’s velvety muzzle you strolled down the barn aisle side by side with Javier, anxiety starting to pool in the pit of your stomach over how the night might turn out, your self-confidence seemingly plummeting to an all-time low as you overthought. But you were too stubborn, too tired of taking the easy way out, to let that shut you down so fast.

After you exited the barn, stepping back on the dirt drive to the Pena household you cleared your throat, simply to get Javier’s attention. When his eyes met yours, you nodded at your car. “I’ve got a change of clothes. Would you mind if I used your shower to get cleaned up before supper?”

His eyes widened slightly, and surprise was written all over his face. “Uh, sure. I’ll cook the eggs and get the coffee going while you do that.”

You stood on your tip toes and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Thanks.”

The Pena house was ancient as far as houses in Texas went, but it was well kept and maintained for a place that hadn’t had a woman’s touch in at least a decade. It was cozy, if not a little stuffy, made worst by the lack of air conditioning.

As soon as you’d entered the house, Javier had gotten to work getting out everything he’d need to cook the eggs and you’d climbed the stairs to the second floor, following the directions he’d given you to find the bathroom. Not that it was hard to find. First door to the right of the stairs.

It felt strange stripping bare in a household you’d never been in before, even in the bathroom with the door closed. It was different than being in a hotel room with friends or family. You weren’t used to being naked in the home of a person you didn’t know a month ago. You may have trusted Javier, but the awkwardness was still there. You shrugged off the feeling. Afterall, if you couldn’t take an innocent little shower in his house, how would you fuck him?

You used the cheap 2 in 1 shampoo that was on the shower shelf for your hair, making sure to work it into your hair until there were plenty of suds, then rinsed and used one of the new bars of soap you’d found in the room’s cabinet to clean your body. It took maybe six minutes before you were out of the shower and wrapped in a towel, headed for your bag on the countertop.

You hadn’t just packed some fresh clothes in it, but also a toothbrush and toothpaste, and you used them then, just in case you wouldn’t have time to brush after the supper, though you planned to take a moment to do so.

Another three minutes and you were downstairs, the smell of eggs and toast and coffee filled your nostrils way before you reached the kitchen.

“Smells good,” you called out as you turned the corner to enter the room.

Javier smiled at you as you plopped yourself down at the table. “Better?”

You nodded as you pulled a hair tie out of your left front pocket to tie back your damp hair. “Much. And I thought New York summers were hot.”

“Food’s done,” he announced, shutting off the stove burner he was using and pulling a pair of plates out of the cabinet next to the sink. “Come eat.”

As if you hadn’t hinted at deepening your relationship, you and Javier talked over supper like you typically did on your dates, about anything and everything that popped into your heads. Something a family member had done, a friend, people at work, or about the animals. You hadn’t seen each other since Sunday afternoon, six days ago, and Javier wasn’t big on phone calls, so there was a fair bit to catch up on.

After you’d eaten your fill, you both stood to dump your plates in the sink.

“Leave the mess for now,” he told you. “I’m going to go take a shower and get into clean clothes too, then I’ll pick up. There are movies on the shelf by the TV in the living room. If you want, you could pick out one and we could watch it when I’m out?”

“Sure,” you said, having no intention of leaving the mess alone, nor watching a movie after.

“Make yourself at home,” he shouted back down as he disappeared up the stairs.

As soon as he was out of sight, you got to work, shoving utensils and plates into the dishwasher and scrubbing the pan he’d used for the eggs under running warm water. After washing the pan and anything else that couldn’t be washed by machine, you wiped down the stove and tabletop before taking to the living room to pace around.

For the hell of it, you took a couple minutes to look through the pile of video tapes by the TV, mostly old westerns and 80s cop shows. You decided to pick one out just so you had something in hand when Javier returned, settling for The Magnificent Seven. You hadn’t watched a lot of westerns growing up, but you’d heard that was a pretty decent one, so you planted yourself on the couch with the case in hand.

He joined you less than a minute later, hands on his hips. “You didn’t need to clean up.”

“I wanted to,” you declared. “In my house growing up the cook never washed the dishes after.”

He shook his head. “So did you choose out a movie?”

You raised the hand grasping the video tape.

“Good choice,” he said approvingly, flopping down beside you. “You ready to watch?”

“After I use the bathroom,” you told him, pushing yourself back up onto your feet.

As soon as you were out of sight, you raced up the stairs, taking time to pee and to brush your teeth one more time, afraid any remnants of supper would ruin any possible moments.

You cursed the wayward curls on your forehead when you looked in the mirror and chose to let your hair hang loose again so they blended in better. After you’d brushed your hair out with your fingers so it wasn’t so flat from the tie, you made your way back to the living room.

“All set now,” you announced, hoping the nervousness in your voice wouldn’t give away what you were about to say next.

“I already popped in the movie,” Javier notified you as you sat back down, one of your knees brushing against his as you twisted in your seat to face him. “We just need to press play.”

You nodded, putting on a thoughtful look for show. “What if I don’t want to watch a movie?”

His eyebrows shot up his forehead and he smirked, amused. “Impatient, carino?”

“I knew you’d gotten the hint,” you murmured as you leaned forward to let your lips nearly brush his.

“It wasn’t exactly subtitle,” he informed you.

“Oh well.” You pressed your lips against his and he immediately opened up to you, letting you slip your tongue inside as you eagerly pulled yourself onto his lap.

This much you were used to, this much you’d done with him before. He’d helped you refine your kisses with practice, and you’d quickly become confident about your techniques once you’d gotten good enough to draw a groan from him and that is what you set out to do again on that couch.

When the sound slipped out from somewhere deep in his throat, you jerked away from him just enough to speak. “Show me to your room.”

“Are you sure about this?” he asked lowly, cupping one of your cheeks with a rough hand, his dark brown eyes searching yours earnestly.

“I think the slow burn’s gone on long enough,” you joked, kissing him again, nipping at his bottom lip. He grunted at that and deepened it once more.

After a few moments he led you upstairs, to the second room on the left, dragging you inside and grabbing you by the waist, his lips never leaving yours for longer than a split second. He walked you to his bed, sitting on the edge and patting his legs. You got the message and straddled him, sitting on his lap more directly than you had on the couch.

With nothing but moonlight to guide you in the dark, you reached for the hem of the clean gray t-shirt Javier had worn after his shower and removed it, throwing it to the ground as you placed your mouth back on his and splayed your hands over his bare chest.

What a dream he was, and it was only just the beginning. Every muscle in your body already humming with anticipation, with arousal. You let him tug your shirt over your head without a second thought, and closed your eyes as he nibbled the delicate skin along your collarbone, shivering at the pleasant graze of his teeth and his tongue on you. You gasped a little, lost in the moment.

But you quickly snapped out of it when you felt his hands reaching to unclasp your lacy bra, the one you’d specially bought just for him. You stopped him with your hands over his biceps, gripping them firmly.

He glanced up at you, confusion written on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“I’d rather keep the bra on tonight,” you answered breathlessly.

He frowned, lips almost forming into a pout. “Why?”

You could tell by his inflection that he wasn’t trying to pressure you with the question or make you feel stupid about your reluctance, he genuinely wanted to know your reason, to understand it, but it still made you feel more self-conscious than you’d ever felt before in your life.

You didn’t want to lie, but you did try to shrug it off like it wasn’t actually a big deal to you. “They just look better like that.”

Your breasts had never been as perky and well-shaped as the ones women tended to have on TV and they were your least favorite part of your body. You’d been hoping that, for at least one night, you could avoid...flaunting them. You’d thought it would be easy enough to avoid if you bought a fancy bra to contain them.

Javier’s eyes softened a bit, and he kissed you along your jaw, drawing a quiet moan from you. “If you’d rather keep it on for comfort, that’s alright, but don’t do it because you’re worried about my opinion of them. I promise I’m not a picky man, carino. And I’d like to touch you there. To kiss you there.”

He dipped his head down to kiss the center of your chest, as if to give you a preview, and you sucked in a deep breath. God, you wanted him to. Despite your reservations about the condition of your breasts, you desperately wanted him to explore them, to know what it felt like.

You swallowed hard. “Okay. Yes.”

He easily unclipped your bra and set your breasts free, watching them fall onto your chest, and you watched for his reaction, breath catching in your chest with apprehension.

You saw the exact moment his eyes darkened with lust, and you gnawed on your lip upon witnessing it. Your breasts turning him on was the last thing you’d expected on that night.

“Can I touch them?” he inquired, his voice raspier than before.

You whined at him. “Yes, Javi.”

He cupped them in his hands, kneading them, and his thumbs found your nipples, massaging them, moving in a circular pattern. You gasped and arched your back as they hardened, eyes closing to the pleasant sensation his touch sparked in you.

The next thing you knew his hot mouth was on your right one and you moaned loudly as his tongue dragged over the bud. He took his time to work over it, then the left, before returning his mouth to yours and pulling you in close, palms pressed against your bare back.

“You are perfect just the way you are, baby.” He grunted. “So damn sensitive. You sound so good.” His voice was strained, and it wasn’t the only part of him that was. You could feel his bulge through his jeans, and as he started grinding against your own jean clad center, your stomach did a flip when you gave recognition to the fact that he was hard for you. For the longest time you hadn’t believed you could be that attractive to anyone.

Your biggest insecurity about your body overcome, you felt empowered after, untouchable by your other, less notable ones, like the one you had for the faint stretch marks that ran along your belly and thighs, and the puzzle shaped birth mark on your right thigh that made that part of your skin lighter than the rest. They all faded to the back of your brain as your focus became single minded.

You stood and pushed off your jeans, kicking them aside in a beat, and your hands impatiently reached for the top button on his. He let you undo it and lifted his hips so you could peel his pants off. They were so form fitting the move nearly pulled his boxers off with them, revealing the happy trail between his hips as they rode dangerously low.

With your next kiss you were back on his lap, hands gripping his strong shoulders tightly as his hands found your hips.

He nibbled on your neck, and his mustache lightly brushed the delicate skin there, making you pitch forward with a giggle. “That tickles.”

“Sorry,” he apologized under his breath, though a grin was plastered on his face.

You grinned back at him. “No, I like it.”

You kept kissing each other, mouths mapping whatever skin you could easily reach, and somewhere during that time you’d shifted, positioned your body so that one of his thighs was straddled between your legs, pressed to your cunt. It took you a minute to realize you were rotating your hips, rubbing yourself against the firm muscle underneath his skin and your thin lacy underwear.

Your cheeks heated when you noticed and you immediately stilled your hips, redirecting your passion to mouthing at his neck.

He groaned his disappointment. “Don’t stop, hermosa, keep going. Try to get yourself off on my thigh. I want to see it.”

Your breath hitched and you nearly bit down on the slope of his shoulder when those words tumbled out of his mouth. “Fuck, Javi, don’t tell me that like that.” You might as well have been struck by lightning.

He chuckled and beamed up at you unapologetically, tightening his hold on your hips a little more to help you keep balance as you started back up again. You felt a bit silly dry humping his leg at first, but the way he stared up at your face reverently, with his pupils blown wide open, erased it and you fully embraced the situation, digging your nails into his shoulders for purchase as you moved.

The friction between your folds, your thin underwear, and his thigh caused by your rolling hips felt so good you got completely lost in it, eyes half mast, breaths catching. You could feel something building within you, making the pit of your stomach burn and the space between your legs throb. Your heart began to race, sweat broke out over your brow, and you let out a loud moan.

“You’re so fucking hot like this,” Javier told you with a moan of his own, eyes glued to your face except for the occasional glance to where you were riding him. You felt a thrill coarse through you after hearing his admiration, and felt yourself get tantalizingly close to climaxing, but after a while you realized getting yourself to tip over the edge was going to be impossible. It just wasn’t quite enough.

You blew out a frustrated sound and Javier pursed his lips. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“I can’t, not like this,” you admitted regretfully. “It’s not enough.” If only it was.

He stroked his hands up and down your back, like he was trying to soothe you. “Can I try something? Can I touch you here?”

One of his hands went to the front of your underwear and your heart jumped. You’d wanted to know for so long what it would be like for a man to touch you there, so long that you didn’t even hesitant to agree to it. He slipped his hand under the fabric after you gave him permission and you felt his thick fingers start to circle your most sensitive bits, getting coated by your wetness as he did so.

You lurched forward at the extra contact, and in under a minute his fingers had you flying over the edge, crying out his name as you came harder than you’d ever on your own. You clutched to him for several seconds after before you pulled away to kiss him heatedly.

“Felt so good,” you panted against his lips. “But I want to feel you in me, Javi. Please.”

“You don’t have to beg hermosa,” he said with a groan, his hands cupping your face. “I want it just as bad. But I gotta know first, is this your first time?”

You froze, suddenly reminded of that other big insecurity that had managed to not rear its ugly head until he’d brought it up. You chewed your lip nervously. “How’d you guess?”

He smiled at you softly. “Our first kiss hinted that might be the case.”

Your eyes fell away from his. You knew you shouldn’t be, but there was a part of you that couldn’t help but feel ashamed. “I didn’t want to bring it up.”

“Why not?” he prompted, expression nonjudgmental.

“Cause it’s embarrassing, a woman my age.”

“Nothing wrong with waiting,” Javier assured you.

“You’re not bothered by it?” you asked, hopeful. To your knowledge, most men preferred women who were experienced, who knew what they were doing. Certainly a man like Javier would be one of them?

He shook his head firmly. “I promise I’m not, carino. I’d like to make you come one more time before though. With my fingers inside you this time.”

You buried your face in the crook of his neck and groaned. You had to be living some kind of fantasy. This couldn’t be real. “Fuck, go for it.”

He laughed and shifted, scooping you up and twisting around so you were laying on your back against the bedspread. He crawled between your thighs, kissed the spot right over your heart, and his left hand wrapped around the back of your neck as his right wandered down between your legs.

He removed your underwear swiftly and started working you up with his fingers again, and you gasped when he slipped a thick finger inside you, then eventually two, taking his time to stretch you out. It felt indescribably good as he pumped them in and out of you, the rest of his fingers pressed against your clit, making your core flood with heat again.

You dug your nails into his back, but he didn’t seem to care, if anything it seemed maddening for him. You’d later distantly recall that he had ground himself against the mattress because of it, desperate for a tiny bit of relief, right before your second orgasm hit you.

Chest heaving, you lifted your hands to palm your sweaty face afterwards. “Holy hell Javi, you’re good at that.”

He smirked down at you, pleased with himself. “Think you’re ready now?”

You were already reaching for the waistband of his boxers, even though you’d barely recovered from your last high.

“Wanna answer the question, baby?” he inquired, though his eyes danced, amused by your enthusiasm.

You growled lowly. “You can bet I am.”

He helped you remove his boxers and when his cock sprung forth you ran a hand down its hard length, curious to know the feeling.

He bucked into your touch reflexively and you beamed at him almost wickedly, riding a high of confidence. “That feel good?”

“Will feel much better in a minute,” he hissed. “Lie back.”

You did as ordered and he fished a condom out of a tin box that was on his nightstand, rolling one on and lining himself up with your entrance within a matter of seconds.

He planted his lips against yours again and met your eyes. “You ready?” he murmured.

You nodded, though you tensed up immediately after, more so from anticipation than worry. You’d imagined this moment for so long, yet you still had no idea what to expect.

“Relax, sweetheart,” Javier said softly, having felt your muscles bunch up. “I’ve got you.” He braced himself with one arm over your head, and you took a calming breath as he used his other hand to guide his cock into you slowly, inch by inch.

You gasped from the intensity of him stretching you out, and you buried your hands into his hair to ground yourself, but there was no pain.

“You okay?” he asked, stilling for a moment as he kissed you, the hand above your head caressing your hair.

“Yes,” you whimpered. “You feel so good.”

Reassured, he slid even deeper inside you, and you gripped his shoulders tightly, snapping your eyes shut to focus on the feeling of his firm shaft dragging along your walls. You bit your lip again, and you wondered if it would be sore later, if other parts of you would also be sore. Not that you cared.

Your focus turned to Javier after he finally bottomed out in you with a raspy groan. “So tight, carino. You feel amazing.”

You moaned softly, loving the praise pouring out of his mouth, loving that he was enjoying this as much as you were. You curled a leg around his hip and made the first move, shifting your hips down and back up to meet his, causing an intense friction that made you both moan and inhale sharply.

He started to gently pump into you after, teeth skimming your jaw as he did, tongue tasting your skin here and there.

You watched him with half lidded eyes as he moved above you, gazed back down at you, eyes filled with heat, desire, and an unspoken love that made your heart soar. It wasn’t just sex you were participating in, there was a deep emotional connection involved too, one that had snuck up on you both.

Knowing that heightened your own desire, your need to reach your peak, and you sought a faster pace until he was matching you with full thrusts into you. Your sharp cries mixed with his low grunts, and you thought it was heavenly, especially when you realized your climax was nearing again.

“So close,” you hummed, eyes fluttering shut.

“Good,” he panted.

He surged into you one more time and you felt something inside you burst, making you fall apart. You felt like Jello after, limbs useless and mind lost in a haze of bliss.

Javier joined you after a couple more quick strokes, groaning loudly into your ear as he filled the condom. He nearly collapsed onto you as he came down, but managed to keep his weight off you as he shifted his focus to kissing your neck tenderly.

You weaved your fingers through his thick, unruly hair and smiled happily, basking in his affection.

“Everything you hoped for?” Javier inquired eventually, one of his hands coming up to brace your neck gently.

“And more,” you admitted, laughing. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Never.” He pressed a kiss to your chin.

“You?” you asked. His satisfaction was as important to you as your own.

He caught your mouth with his briefly before answering. “You had nothing to worry about,” he told you, pulling out with a grunt after.

You whined at the loss of him, and he gave you a disastrously playful wink. “More later.”

You grinned, elated by how light his mood was, proud to be the cause. “Better be.”

He kissed you one more time then helped you pull off the covers of the bed and slip underneath the sheets. You’d both have to get up to clean yourselves later, but for the time being you curled up together instead, inhaling each other’s scents and taking comfort in each other’s arms.

And for the first time in your life, you understood what it felt like having someone who felt like home.

xxx

Masterlist

tagged: @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

#Javier Pena Fanfic (Mine)#Sweet Summer Series

133 notes · View notes

khazadspoon · 7 months ago

Text

@westernmeowmeow did it so why shouldn’t I? Jonah joining the drive. Self indulgent rubbish because he is my sad, wet little failure of a man.

———

Just another hour of riding and he’d be back at the drive. That was all Rowdy was thinking when he saw the faint glow of a campfire up on a ridge. It was small, barely giving off light enough for a man to see by, let alone cook or do anything useful. If he’d been riding with Pete or Mister Favor they’d have told him to keep on the trail, not to go wading into someone else’s business, but Rowdy was a curious man by nature and he tended to follow that nature regardless of warnings that might sound like friends in his head.

He rode closer, jumping down from Fox when he got in view of the small camp.

Though it wasn’t much of a camp, really. There was one man sat near the pathetic fire, knees drawn up to his chest and a small drawstring bag by his feet. In the dim glow he looked haggard and distant, his dark jacket dusty and ragged on narrow shoulders. Rowdy stepped closer and let his hand touch the butt of his gun. You never knew with strangers - they could look harmless and turn on you in the blink of an eye, he’d learned that the hard way on several occasions.

“Evenin’,” he offered, stepping into the dim light of the fire.

The man, though he looked more like a boy, glanced up at him. His eyes, a terribly pale blue, were wide and distant, his pallid cheeks a little sunken as he stared up. He didn’t respond, only blinked owlishly before nodding once and drawing himself in tighter. He was scared, Rowdy realised.

Rowdy raised his hands and squatted down. “Easy, it’s alright. I ain’t gonna hurt you. You lost?”

The man, boy, kid, whoever he was shook his head. “No, m’fine.”

“You don’t look fine…”

He looked terrible, really, like a pup taken from its mother too early and ready to keel over at any moment.

“When’d you last eat?”

The stranger looked down at the fire and shrugged. “Couple days ago, maybe. Finished my jerky.”

Well. That was dire circumstances if Rowdy had ever heard of them. No one could last long out in the wilderness without food, and he couldn’t see any sign of a water skin or tankard anywhere…

He rubbed one cheek thoughtfully, heard his boss say his name low and cautioning in the back of his mind and waved it away. “I’m with a cattle drive not far from here,” he started, gesturing over his shoulder, “you look like you need a decent meal and we can provide one. Just don’t tell Wish I said his food was good or he’ll never shut up about it. Grab your horse and we can get going.”

He watched blue eyes blink at him again. “Horse? Don’t have one.”

“You don’t..?” He blinked back. Two wary cats communicating. But no horse… “How’ve you managed to get all the way out here? On foot?” A small laugh burst from his lips at the idea. The stranger didn’t laugh, just nodded. “You gotta be kidding me. That does it; you’ll ride with me, Fox is good enough to carry two, and no offence but you look like you might fall over in a stiff breeze.”

He was slightly surprised at how easily his new companion went along with the suggestion. He was even more surprised as the man started leaning dangerously as he stood up. He grabbed onto one arm as gently as he could get away with and whistled Fox over, helping the scrawny fellow up into the saddle before getting up behind him, holding him steady as they rode the last few miles to camp.

“You got a name, kid?”

Silence for a moment, then soft and gentle, “Jonah.”

“Nice to meet you, Jonah. I’m Rowdy, ramrod of the outfit. That’s our camp up ahead, you can probably smell the beeves already.”

He dismounted and saw Jesús rush over, concern on his features. “Señor Rowdy, what happened?” The short man said with alarm.

“Met this fella, Jonah. He’s pretty out of it so help me get him some food.”

Jesús helped him get Jonah down from the saddle, the man wavering as his feet met the ground. They walked him over to a barrel to sit down and Rowdy chewed his lip as he watched the dazed look come over the man’s features.

“Well if that ain’t nearly the sorriest sight I ever saw.” Wishbone handed Jonah a plate and the three of them stared as Jonah began to eat like a starving man. “Easy now, or too fast or you’ll-”

Jonah went green, his eyes widening and filling with tears as he hunched over, losing the little food he’d managed to eat.

“When’s the last time he ate?” Wishbone asked in a quiet tone.

“Couple of days at least, he says. Think he was on jerky and sips of water from puddles from the look of him,” Rowdy sighed and rubbed the stranger’s back gently. “Take it easy, Jonah, the food ain’t gonna disappear if you don’t eat it all in one go.”

“With you around?” Wishbone huffed. “Set him up in the supply wagon, I’ll whip up some medicine for what ails him”

When they managed to get him in the wagon, Rowdy noticed his hair. It was pale, dusty and light, but he swore it was grey. Maybe he wasn’t so young-

His thoughts were cut short as Jonah’s eyes rolled back and he fell back onto the pile of blankets, thankfully still breathing but awfully still.

“Will he be alright?” Jesús asked under his breath.

Rowdy nodded and helped his friend back out of the wagon. “Yeah. A couple of days of food and water, plenty of rest, he’ll be fine.”

“Señor Favor said we shouldn’t take on any more men, what with how the prices have been lately-”

“Let me deal with the boss,” Rowdy interrupted, “besides, we ain’t hiring him. Just… taking him along for a while so he don’t die all alone out there. He didn’t even have a horse, Soos, and I didn’t see no gun, neither.”

They sat and ate their own supper in silence, the other drovers going about their business for the night. Collins and Teddy went out to watch the herd, Scarlet played cards with Quince and Pete, and Rowdy stared at the supply wagon with a piece of grass between his lips.

He’d make sure Mister Favor saw his side of things, come hell or high water. He knew what starvation felt like, knew all too well that gnawing ache in your belly. If he could stop this man from suffering, he would.

#Jonah oc #Jonah ableworth #rowdy yates

4 notes · View notes

the-darkness-does-not-bargain · 2 years ago

Text

Scenes in the Storm Coast: Introducing The Iron Bull

Here he is, everyone’s favorite horned boyfriend! AO3

The letter finds you at the base of the Frostbacks, one day into your journey back to Haven. After the salon, it was decided that you would spend the night at the inn attached to the bathhouse and start fresh in the morning. It was midday when you reached the border town guarding the road back through the snowy peaks, and you were all surprised to be greeted there by a messenger hawk bearing an unknown insignia.

“How did it find us?” You ask as Camila wrangles the bird and unties the letter from its leg.

Beatrice shrugs. “I know it’s possible to use a spell to guide messenger birds to their recipients. It’s not commonly taught, but any mage can learn.”

“Hardly necessary within the Circles, I would imagine,” Mother Superion comments, uncaring or unaware of how Beatrice’s hands tighten on her reins in response. “What does it say, Camila?”

Camila opens it, scans the first lines, and frowns. “It’s addressed to you,” she says to you, drawing a scowl to your lips.

“Let me guess, it’s actually addressed to the Herald of Andraste,” you grumble, scowling harder when she grimaces sympathetically. “Just read it, Cam.”

She takes a deep breath, and then begins to recite. “Herald of Andraste. That’s quite a title you’ve come up with, not unlike my own. I am The Iron Bull, and I lead the Bull’s Chargers mercenary company (see how it ties in?). I’ve got an opportunity for you that you won’t want to miss.”

“Does anyone know who this guy is?” You ask, getting mostly head shakes in return.

Mother Superion hums in thought. “The company name has cropped up sporadically in reports, mostly out of Orlais and Nevarra. They seem to be legitimate by all accounts, but I know little else.”

Camila continues. “Tevinter mercs have been spotted creeping around the Storm Coast, poking their noses in local affairs. It’s never a good sign when Vints are crawling around, take it from me. I offer this information free of charge, as a gesture of good will. If you’d like to see what the Bull’s Chargers can do for the Inquisition, come out to the coast and watch us work. If you’re unsure, just ask around Val Royeaux. We’ve got references. We’re tough, professional, and we don’t break contracts. Come see us in action, and I’ll pay for your drinks if you leave disappointed.” She pauses. “That’s it. The rest is just a map of the coastline, with an X marked down on one of the beaches.”

“Not much to go on. He must be confident he’s going to get his way,” Beatrice comments, frowning.

“To the Void with that,” Lilith says with a huff. “References or no, we can’t trust mercenaries in a conflict like this. This isn’t some petty contract, the fate of the world is at stake!”

“Perhaps that’s why they get involved,” Camila speculates. “If they help the Inquisition close the Breach… what could be a better reference than that?”

Lilith just shakes her head. “Absolutely not. No sellsword would willingly stick their neck out for a job this dangerous without a clear end. They’d be fools to do so.”

“Lilith has a point,” Beatrice says, looking over at you. “Which means if they are reaching out to us sincerely, then there must be something besides money and reputation that they want.” She shrugs. “That could be helpful, or very dangerous.”

You bite your lip, drumming your fingers along the rim of your saddle and looking out at the road in front of you, the one that will take you back to Haven if you let it. “If we went to see them,” you venture cautiously. “How much would that slow us down?”

Mother Superion hums again. “If we take the most direct route to the coast? It will add a week and a day onto our journey by horseback. If we keep a brisk pace, we might reduce that to six days, but no less.”

Okay, not ideal… You’re anxious to get back to Haven and regroup with the others, but something about this offer is tickling your intuition. Because, yeah, it’s super weird that some random mercenaries would go to the trouble of sending you a direct message (with magic, no less) offering their services with no expectations (that they’ve stated, anyway). It’s weirder still that they would go so far as to give up sensitive information for free to entice you.

“This guy talks about another group of mercs from Tevinter, is that something we should be worried about?”

Lilith frowns. “Tevinter has been too busy dealing with the Qunari. I have trouble believing they would send any men southward, especially to the Storm Coast of all places.” She grimaces, as though tasting something bitter. “But… if they have, then it’s worth investigating. This Bull character isn’t wrong to be concerned. If he’s telling the truth, that is.”

You look toward Mother Superion again. “Apart from time, what would it really cost us to hear them out?”

She runs a pensive hand along her horse’s mane. “We didn’t pack for an extended trip, but that’s a small issue. Dora and the others will know to expect delays as soon as my scout reaches Haven. Beyond that, nothing, unless we agree to hire them.”

You turn the decision over in your mind for a minute more. “Then… I guess I don’t see the harm in at least hearing their offer.” You’re not stoked about another six to eight days of riding, but you’re beginning to suspect that trips like this are going to be your new normal. Good thing you still like camping.

Everyone agrees, if somewhat reluctantly, and you change course to head for the Storm Coast. You follow the same road through most of the mountains, only veering north when you cross the peaks and can see Ferelden below you. Once you finish the descent and reach flat ground again, Mother Superion bids you all to move faster, taking up a trot with Lilith and Camila close behind.

“Keep your body loose,” Beatrice advises you when she sees the stricken look on your face. “And think of the trot like a drumbeat. It will always follow the same pattern, 1-2-1-2. Rotate your hips forward on the first beat, in time with the horse’s stride, and then back on the second beat.” She demonstrates the movement on top of Drakon, raising and lowering her hips in a smooth, practiced fashion. You are caught in place watching her, mesmerized by the grace of her body and the ease of motion that speaks to strong legs hidden under her robes. You already know she’s strong, of course, but that doesn’t make seeing it any less affecting.

She makes you repeat the movement several times before she’s satisfied enough to order Drakon into an easy trot. You hesitantly nudge Mud Pie to do the same, and he complies after a moment of chuffing protest. It’s fucking nerve-wracking and you’re sure that you’re about to fall off, but you force your hips up and down as she showed you, and eventually you find the rhythm. It’s still hard, and exhausting, but you don’t fall or even falter as the two of you catch up to the others. Your thighs burn something fierce by the time you stop to camp, but the ache lessens bit by bit with each day that passes.

The Storm Coast is, for lack of a better term, wet. Damp as shit. Fucking soaked. You suppose you should have guessed from the name, but it really doesn't do the place justice. When you cross the boundary of the Hinterlands, it’s like someone threw a lever on the weather. Pounding rainstorms hound you ceaselessly through the first full day of riding, and your party is forced to hide out in a creepy, spider-infested cavern just to get a fire going for the night. The deluge continues into the next day, and it doesn’t let up an inch until you reach the beaches where the letter directed you to go.

At first, you see no sign of mercenaries, Tevinter or otherwise, only miles and miles of packed sand, jagged rocks, and crashing waves. The majesty of the ocean is diminished somewhat by the inescapable dreariness of your surroundings, and while you are still thrilled to see it, you do wish the sun would poke through the clouds to brighten things up a little.

It isn’t until you’ve spent nearly an hour scouring the coastline that you finally see the fighting. Two groups of warriors are beating each other bloody while the sea churns and threatens to sweep them all away. As you watch from horseback, you can identify the different combatants by their choice of gear. One group is dressed in unusual, oddly pointy armor that seems foreign to you. They must be the Tevinter company. The other group is less uniformly equipped, but they bear the same insignia as your letter, and charge into the fight with the biggest man you’ve ever seen as their vanguard.

If you’re being honest, “big” doesn’t describe him properly. Massive would be more fitting, or gargantuan. He must be seven feet tall at least, with shoulders as wide as a druffalo’s and a pair of enormous horns to match. He wears almost no armor, his torso completely bare of protection, but he seems wholly unbothered by it. He hefts a battleaxe in the air like it weighs nothing and effortlessly cleaves a man apart with it, spraying blood across the wet sand. He lets out a booming laugh before kicking another foe in the chest so hard you can almost see their rib cage collapse.

“Should we… intervene?” Beatrice asks, watching the battle with an uncertain frown.

Mother Superion shrugs. “He wanted us to watch his company work. Let’s watch them.”

So you wait, observing from a safe distance as the fight progresses to a quick and definitive conclusion. The horned man and his soldiers crush their opponents with little to no effort, and are already in the process of cleaning up by the time you dismount your horses and walk over to them.

“Chargers, stand down!” The huge guy rests his axe on the ground and calls to one of the other mercenaries, a short man kicking the corpse of a Tevinter sellsword off to one side. “Krem! How’d we do?”

“Five or six wounded, chief,” the man calls back. “No dead.”

“That’s what I like to hear! Let the throatcutters finish up, and then break out the casks.” With this booming command, the guy turns and looks down at your approach with a curious expression. “So, you’re with the Inquisition, huh? Glad you could make it.” He tilts his horns to one side, indicating a lopsided circle of driftwood logs some twenty yards away. “Have a seat. Drinks are coming.”

You follow him at a distance, your eyes continually roaming over his form, taking in the bare chest, the muscles, the sheer mass of him. You think his bicep is legitimately, no joke, bigger than your head, and he stands so tall that you might as well be a toddler next to him. He also speaks in such a calm, confident manner that it makes you reasonably sure of his identity. Really, with the horns and the everything about him, there’s only one person he could be. “I guess you’re Iron Bull, then.”

He smirks, looking almost playful, even going so far as to wink at you as he sits down. “Yeah, it’s usually the horns that tip people off. After that, if they live long enough for conversation, that’s when they act surprised.”

His humor draws a grin from you easily. He’s… charming. Maybe that shouldn’t be such a surprise, but it’s definitely not the word you had in mind when he deprived a man of his lower half just a few minutes ago. Speaking of…

“So you wanted us to see you in action,” you broach. “And you certainly came prepared.” You take a seat of your own on the log across from him, and to your slight surprise, Mother Superion plants herself next to you, resting both hands on her cane and watching the man with that signature, piercing stare you know all too well.

“The Chargers are always prepared,” he says, shrugging as if it’s a trivial matter. “We don’t limit ourselves to one kind of contract. Demons, dragons, talking trees, Vints, you name it, we’ll kill it. For the right price.”

“Have you had a lot of experience fighting demons before the Breach?” Lilith cuts in, refusing to sit and instead taking her signature posture of crossed arms and straight shoulders behind you.

He hums, his grin fading by a degree. “Maybe not, but we’re getting more and more by the day. That’s part of why I reached out to you directly.” The short soldier, Krem, appears at his side. “Ah, this is my lieutenant, Cremisius Aclassi.”

Krem nods his head respectfully at you. “Good to meet you all.” To Iron Bull, he says, “Throatcutters are done, chief.”

Iron Bull frowns, his thick eyebrows furrowing. “Already? Have ‘em check again. I don’t want any of those Tevinter bastards getting away. No offense, Krem.”

Krem just smirks, a roguish and handsome expression. “None taken. Least a bastard knows who his mother was. Puts him one up on you Qunari, right?”

Qunari. Honestly, you feel a little stupid for not realizing it immediately. Who else is there that would be 7 feet tall and walking around with horns like a dragon’s? In your defense, you’ve never actually seen a Qunari before now, but you still should have made the connection sooner. Everyone else assuredly has.

Krem walks off, leaving Iron Bull to turn his attention back to you. “So, you’ve seen us fight. We’re expensive, but worth it. And I’m sure the Inquisition can afford us.”

Can they? Honestly, you’re not sure, and you glance over at Mother Superion as subtly as you can. She obliges you.

“How expensive are we talking?” She asks seamlessly.

Iron Bull smirks. “It wouldn’t cost you anything personally, unless you’re buying the drinks. But your ambassador, Josephine? We’d go through her and get the payments set up. The gold will take care of itself from there.”

Mother Superion’s eyes narrow. “How do you know Josephine’s name? She has only just begun her work with us.”

Now, Iron Bull drops the smirk, choosing instead to plant his enormous hands on his knees, both visible and empty. “Yeah, I suppose that’s something else we should discuss. Might be useful, might piss you off. Ever heard of the Ben-Hassrath?”

“The Ben—”

“You’re a spy?” Mother Superion questions sharply, her hands gripping her cane, a dangerous expression on her face.

“Easy, Sister,” he placates, leaning back. “I’d appreciate it if you waited until after I’m finished before trying to gut me.” He scratches at the stubble on his chin. “Yeah, for all intents and purposes, I’m a spy. We’ll lay that out on the table right now. It’s pretty simple. The Ben-Hassrath are concerned about the Breach. Magic out of control like that could cause trouble everywhere. I’ve been ordered to join the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send reports on what’s happening. But I also get reports from Ben-Hassrath agents all over Orlais. You sign me on, I’ll share them with your people.”

“Why would you admit that?” Beatrice asks, standing behind you with her arms crossed, just like Lilith. She’s so close to you that you would hit her thighs if you lean back more than a few inches. You wonder why. Is she worried she’ll have to pull you out of the way if this guy leaps at you or something?

Whatever the reason, you do feel more secure with her there, so you’ll take it.

Iron Bull shrugs, as if it costs him nothing to answer. “Because whatever happened at the Conclave is bad for everyone. The Breach needs to be dealt with. So before I’m anything, I’m on your side.”

“And what would you report back to your masters in Par Vollen?” Mother Superion asks, failing or perhaps choosing not to hide the scorn in her voice.

He just looks amused, maybe even impressed by her willingness to snark at him. “Enough to keep my superiors happy, but nothing that will compromise your operations. Seheron just needs to know whether they need to mount an invasion to stop the world from ending.” He says it in a joking way, but the visible tension in your companions ramps up another notch. “You let me send word of what you’re doing, and it will put minds at ease.”

“And what would you tell us?” You ask. “What do these Ben-Harrath or whatever know that our people couldn’t find?”

He chuckles. “Enemy movements, suspicious activity, intriguing gossip. Alone, it’s not much, but if your sharp-tongued spymaster here is any good, it will be more than enough,” he says, and you can practically see the way his mouth curls around the word “sharp-tongued”. Um… Mother Superion raises a single eyebrow at him, and you can’t help how your eyes dart between that and his unyielding smirk. A quick glance upward reveals Beatrice with a similarly discomfited expression.

Okay, moving on.

“So you’d run all your reports past Mother Superion?” You ask for clarification. “And send nothing she doesn’t approve? Because, I gotta be honest, if this is some kind of trick, then everybody here is gonna eat you alive.” You jut your thumb behind you to indicate your crew, who you can only hope are projecting above-average levels of Don’t Fuck With Us energy.

He just grins hard, showing a full set of white teeth. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You look at Mother Superion, and then at Beatrice and Lilith above you. Mother Superion gives a quick but certain nod while the other two, though visibly uneasy, voice no protest.

“Okay,” you tell him. “We’ll bring you on, and see how this goes.” You are reminded, suddenly and jarringly, of how you said almost the exact same thing when you hesitantly agreed to join the Inquisition. It’s been less than a month, but the distance between that moment and now may exceed the whole of Thedas.

“Excellent!” He exclaims before getting to his feet, and turning to his men. “Krem! Tell the boys to finish their drinks on the road. The Chargers just got hired!”

In the distance, Krem looks aggrieved. “What about the casks, chief? We just opened them. With axes.”

Iron Bull grunts. “Well, find some way to seal them up again. You’re Tevinter, right? Try blood magic.” He spares a final glance back at you as you and Mother Superion stand. “We’ll see you back in Haven. Tell the barkeep to stock up before we get there.”

You make your way back to your horses silently. Only once you’re all astride and making your way off the beach does Camila speak up. “He was impressive, wasn’t he? I’ve never met a Qunari before. I didn’t realize they were that big.”

Lilith scoffs loudly. “He’s just another hulking brute with an axe. He’s nothing special.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, Lilith,” Mother Superion disagrees. “The Qunari don’t tolerate incompetence, and that man is Ben-Hassrath for a reason.” She looks at you from atop Aster, her silver-gray mare. “I don’t doubt that he and his company will be useful to us,” she says. “But we should not let our guards down. He may keep his word, but a snake is a snake, whether it’s honest about its fangs or not.”

“The Qunari despise mages,” Beatrice comments worriedly. “Their word for mage means ‘dangerous thing’. When any of their kind show skill with magic, they chain them up and keep them enslaved for their entire lives.”

You shrug. “So they’re just like the Chantry, then.” Okay, maybe that came out sharper than you intended, given the glare that Mother Superion sends you and the soft, shocked intake of breath you hear from Beatrice.

“Regardless,” the Mother says quellingly, “If he’s serious about working with us, then he’ll understand our intentions to negotiate with the rebels in Redcliffe. We should not let that affect our course of action. We’ll discuss things further when we get back to Haven. For now, let’s pick up the pace.”

She nudges her horse into a trot, and you all do the same, letting the beach disappear behind you as rain starts falling again.

#warrior nun #dragon age #dragon age au #my writing #dragon age iron bull #okay now the next chapter is going to be very fun #not for the characters but for us #get hype

12 notes · View notes

innaneramblingsofamadman · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 3: A Little Late on the Draw

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14200223/3/A-New-Alliance

Chapter 3: A Little Late on the Draw

Today the Sinclair’s would arrive, and gears would be put into motion at last. For Wednesday it felt as though the machine were destiny, and it marched ever forward without rest or warning to those in its path. It seemed she’d been caught unaware while her back was turned and she had been focused on other things. After spending the whole night in the library, the closest grasp of new information she could find was that one could use dognip mixed with peppermint in an incense to addle a werewolves mind without alerting their heightened senses, yet they did not make them prone to suggestion as she had hoped. Thing had remained in her room all night as instructed, and reported only finding a small tunnel that led outside the house in case of emergencies. A house without any secrets? Where’s the fun in that? She frowned.

Wednesday set about getting ready for the day, tying up the familiar twin braids with practiced ease. Her wardrobe offered up a simple outfit for her today, black riding pants and hiking boots paired with a charcoal sweater and white undershirt. Not very inspired, but she figured there would be a tour of the property sometime today anyway, so going with her usual morbid and eccentric style may not fit. It fit her like a tomb, but was excellent at bracing against the wind this area was infamous for.

Outside the day seemed to be just getting started for the rest of her family. Dark clouds blanketed the entire sky, an omnipresent shroud veiling the world from above. Gomez and Morticia were taking in the beauty of the bleak gray next to the lake as they walked arm in arm, with eyes locked only on each other as they strolled just past the reach of the water, never stumbling or faltering despite the rocky terrain. Pubert lay in the grass with his sketch pad, taking his time to capture each little detail he could manage as he shaded in a drawing of the mushrooms in front of him. Lurch stood nearby, waiting with a pitcher of water and glasses on a tray. Corvus and Pugsley seemed to be missing for the moment, but that was fine. Wednesday looked down at her watch and sighed. It’s just a quarter past eleven now, I’ll find them and follow Corvus to greet the others before they arrive.

“Lurch, please inform my parents I’ve gone to welcome the Sinclair Pack whenever they finish defiling this marvelous day with their longing.”

“Uuurgh”

She turned on a heel and began stalking to the back of the house, expecting to find her cousin and brother there. She was right, of course. Corvus and Pugsley were in the process of throwing hay bales onto the back of a large flatbed truck and arranging them as though they were seats in neat rows with blankets over the tops. A tour indeed, one free of walking, thank the seven hells. Corvus spotted her first and paused in placing another bale, then tapped her mammoth brother on the shoulder and pointed to her.

“Hey Wednesday,” Pugsley called, “wanna come with? We’re gonna drive the wolves to the old house.”

“I’d be delighted actually, it’s always a good thing to know where the enemy sleeps.” Wednesday crossed her hands behind her back as she approached the truck and inspected the stacks before her. “Though perhaps I could be on something else? You and Corvus can take the truck for your own glory.”

“Care to see the stables? Something in there might grab your attention,” Corvus suggested as he hopped down to the earth. “Just walk down the road and it’s on the left past the rise. All the saddles are kept in the building next door, we’ll meet you there in a few minutes and I can help if you can’t decide.” She thought for a moment, stock still, and then looked up into his empty eyes.

“Do you have anything black?”

“As a matter of fact, I might have just what you’re looking for.”

Corvus strolled inside the stable and turned to his right, walking down a short stone ramp to a set of reinforced steel barn doors, he explained that the more hostile creatures were kept down here both for the safety of all the other horrifying wonders upstairs, but also for training and disciplining. All three of them walked up to the door and entered into the dungeon where, locked behind iron bars, paced more dangerous breeds of mount. Including the Mares of Diomedes in a larger pen on the left hand side. The keeper walked the stalls, running his fingers along the bars without any worry at all of being attacked. These creatures were restless, but not untrained, not unbroken. If he could make such monstrosities bend the knee, Wednesday had the ability as well. At the third pen from the end he stopped and crouched down, reaching through the bars and petting whatever rested inside. Wednesday and Pugsley waited by the door per his instruction, and couldn’t see what it was.

“You wanted black, he’ll more than account for that. But I think he’s an attention grabber anyway, come say hello,” Corvus waved her over and gestured for her to kneel next to him. Behind the bars all she could spy was a pair of simmering green eyes that pierced like a javelin through her soul, and as the creature within began to shift and lift off the floor she at last got a full view. “His name is Asmodeus.”

A muscle bound panther squared off against her, as tall as she was, with claws and fangs glittering in the torch light, and the long tail that extended behind twirled in the air as the barbed tip remained pointed at her. Wednesday stood slower than a man at gunpoint, eyes affixed to his. It was a contest of wills now, whoever broke first lost, and Wednesday Addams did not lose.

“Open the door and let me in,” she commanded. Corvus did as she said, unlocking it with a quick rune and opening it for her with the same bow he had offered last night.

“Maybe that isn’t a great idea!” Pugsley shouted from the doorway.

“Hush now and watch a prodigy at work.” She stepped inside and continued the staring contest with the ominous wall of darkness before her, holding a hand out with her palm up to its nose. His concentration had been broken for the moment as the large black maw lifted up and chuffed at her hand a few times, but the moment the guard had been dropped Wednesday placed her hand between his eyes and ran her hand along the thick skull to the base, where a simple pressure point allowed her to drop the panther like a sack of rocks. Dust and hay littered the air as it hit the stone flooring, a dazed mewl escaped past the sharp teeth as it looked up to her again. She reached down and placed the hand between his eyes again, but this time began to rub and smooth gentle patterns along the creature's face before running the other hand along the sleek pelt that adorned his back. “Tell me, what is he?”

“A simple bounder from around these parts, but Asmodeus suffers an excess in melanin, causing his fur to be black. Most of them wander the hills around here and look almost the same as a large mountain lion,” he grinned and walked away, “I’ll grab his saddle, you and Pugsley get him brought outside.” Well, that was going to take a bit of finesse, but it was a fair price to take power of such a handsome beast as this. After a minute or so of stopping and walking Wednesday discovered the large feline followed her every move and never strayed more than ten feet from her, so it was an easy matter of walking back up the stone ramp and out into the clouded day. Asmodeus took advantage of his new freedom and began to roll in the grass and dirt as he covered his entire body in dust while emanating a deep purr. Wednesday resisted the urge to smile but only managed to tone it down into a quiet smirk. As her new companion continued to roll and chuff on the ground, Corvus emerged from the side building hauling a strange looking saddle with a large silver ring at the front and straps that looked as though they would wrap around the bounder’s shoulders and another loop that cinched around the midsection.

Her older cousin began to instruct her on how to secure it so it was steady enough to not slide, but not so tight on the creature as to impede movement or breathing. Within a couple minutes both Corvus and Pugsley watched as Asmodeus began to rise after the saddle had been secured to his powerful frame, with a smug looking Wednesday perched atop with her hands affixed to the metallic ring. The clouds rolled overhead without a whisper as she situated herself a bit more, rising up and back down several times before nodding to no one at all.

“How does it feel to be taller than me for once?” Pugsley’s attempt at a joke was met by a hard glare that he waved off. It felt good, but not quite right…Wednesday could feel something small within herself resisting the enchanting black pelt and murderous power of the beast. The rest of her brain decided it was uncertainty at something so new, and she waved the thought off as Pugsley had dismissed her gorgon’s stare.

“Adequate,” she answered. “Come along now boys, we have new friends to intimidate.”

~30 minutes later~

Enid had been stuffed into the backseat of the tiny rental car with her older brother Malachi, and had spoken less than maybe 10 words in the last 3 hours of the drive. When her parents had delivered the news that their family would represent the pack at the Addams meeting she’d been ecstatic, because there was absolutely no way people with that much money were going to meet them anywhere less than a five star hotel, in her mind at least. Sure it might have been haunted or whatever, but she could handle that. What she couldn’t handle was that wherever they were going was in the middle of LITERALLY nowhere, and she’d lost cell service more than twenty minutes ago now. So much for updating her blog. Malachi had made some remark about it being good that she couldn’t spend the entire trip on her phone, but she’d barely heard him over the wailing of her own self pity. The GPS in the front seat pinged at last, signaling her dad to turn right. Down another dirt road. Yay.

The dark clouds swirling over them did little to improve her mood, and the tree line they were about to drive straight into only added to her anxiety because was it her or did she see something move behind that bush?

After a few more minutes of following the road through hanging branches that scraped the roof of the car, it opened up again to a small clearing where the road forked. Waiting in the middle of that fork sat a beat up truck and two men leaning against the hood as they talked, the one on the left looked skinny and short but that might have only been because he was standing next to the tallest dude Enid had ever seen. Their car pulled off to the side into a grassy area and parked.

“Now remember everyone,” her mom started, “best behavior, we’re here to make a good impression and make it stay that way.” Malachi and her dad nodded, sticking to their usual silence as Enid rolled her eyes. She doubted it would be hard to make a good impression on people who were regularly known for their cultish behavior. Esther let out a deep sigh and patted her husband’s knee twice before opening her door and stepping out as the rest of the family followed suit, the man on the left was strolling up to their rental with a relaxed ease, hands tucked into his vest pockets.

“Welcome to the Addams Family Reserve everyone, I trust the journey was as long and arduous as always," he smiled. Oh my god, his eyes are all black, that’s so freaky! And he smells like rot. Enid’s nose crinkled as the scent hit harder with a gust of wind, it was like she’d just found a body in the woods months after it had been left there.

“Oh no, it was lovely! So scenic and gorgeous! Right Mur?” Esther had stretched out a hand and shook his, Murray offering another nod and smile. “My name is Esther Sinclair, this is my husband Murray, our oldest Malachi, and our youngest Enid,” she pointed them out each in turn. Behind the man speaking to her mom, the boy who had been leaning against the truck also walked over, fidgeting with the cuffs and collar of his suit the whole time.

“A pleasure, my name is Corvus. The giant behind me is my cousin Pugsley, his parents are preparing for this evening and could not join us, unfortunately. Somewhere around here though,” Corvus narrowed his dark eyes and began to look around. He frowned and turned to Pugsley. “Where did she go?”

“I don’t know, she said she’d be right back five minutes ago,” his eyes darted around the clearing, filled with sudden panic, “do you think she’s okay?” Behind Enid something rustled in the trees and the sound of twigs snapping put her on alert.

“I assure you, nothing out here could kill me even if it sacrificed itself in the process,” a deadpan voice echoed across the clearing. Enid could have been standing only feet away and it still would’ve carried the same volume. From out of the trees a massive panther lumbered up to them all, green eyes all aglow and the scent of a fresh kill on its breath. Resting on its back was a woman about her age, with dark hair in braids and eyes so intense they pierced all her walls. Corvus offered a small bow and held up an open hand, helping her off of the saddle and onto the ground next to him.

“Allow me to introduce the next matriarch of our family, Wednesday Addams.” Her eyes scanned each of them in turn from head to toe, pausing on Enid for a second longer than the rest and Wednesday held a hand out to Enid alone.

“The displeasure is all mine,” she said. But at that moment Enid’s mind had already broken, all the mechanisms were just spinning and whistling as a record played over and over in her head, hot goth girl hot goth girl hot goth girl.

#wednesday fanfic #wenclair #wenclair au #fanfic

4 notes · View notes

ulircursed · 2 years ago

Text

venalier:

had she ever seen him smile like that? … a lot had changed while she’d been gone, huh. ignoring the out-of-place heat climbing on her own face, she dismisses the moment of stunned surprise and refocuses. “so you decided to try it for yourself? i’m glad to hear it. but i hope you don’t think that means you’ll be besting me anytime soon.” a challenging, playful smirk. “and i guess that means i can’t get comfortable with my own training either.”

if it really was because of her and belle though, that just made her want to see what he’d learned even more. she’ll admit — with how stiff he’d been behind her in the saddle that time, she’d never have thought he’d take to flying of his own free will.

“oh, speaking of archery.”

twisting an arm back, she starts unholstering something strapped across her back, presenting it to him a moment later. it would resemble something like a short box-like basket with a leather-lattice jutting up from its back if not for the five fletched arrows sticking out and bound to the back with cord that identified it as a quiver. it’s finely lacquered in black and gold, front and sides painted with a swirling dragonfly design. “this is for you — a kari-ebira. it’s the kind of quiver that’s used in hoshido, and that i had before coming here. i’m sure you probably have plenty of your own that work better for you, but even if you just use it as a decoration, i’d like if you’d accept it.”

“father spoke with the school, and i was allowed to bring my own tenma this time too. maybe you can meet her sometime.”

“You...” Eyes widen at the gift, and Andrei reaches out, taking it in his lap and trailing fingers along the open frame. It’s extremely lightweight compared to the quivers he is accustomed to, though, in the hands of an expert, its design will likely increase draw speed and maneuverability. He looks up at Caeldori. “Thank you. I will learn to use it,” he says firmly, “Perhaps we might have a chance to practice together. It would be an honor to see you fighting truly in your element.”

A shame that he hadn’t known of her arrival beforehand, or he could have prepared something for her as well. By the rules of courtly etiquette, it should be so. No gift is without its implicit purpose, always intending for its price to be paid back by something else, material or otherwise. But then again, Caeldori has never treated him as though she expected something like that of him, and nobility hasn’t ever been a topic they had discussed. For that matter, he doesn’t treat Caeldori like he would any typical noble either.

He treats her like...

Andrei hastens to change the subject before embarrassment could tighten its grip on him once more. "It is unfortunate you did not arrive just a few days earlier,” he says instead, “The Black Eagle class would doubtlessly benefit from having you amongst its ranks.” Well, his own lacking performance aside, it seems the class is doing fine regardless from what he’s gleaned between passing conversation within the medical tent. It doesn’t take away from the truth of the sentiment. “I’ve little doubt you would’ve fared better against the mage I was facing, at the very least,” he exhales slowly, indicating his bandaged wounds with a slight twitch of his arm.

If left to his own choice, Andrei would receive whatever quick treatment offered before slinking back to the Abyss, allowing his wounds and his pride to recover in darkness and solitude. The monastery's concept of 'proper medical procedure' had different ideas, though, and he's laid down on a cot in the tent, awaiting discharge. The thoughts of the earlier, disappointing battle run through his mind as he stares wordlessly at the ceiling of the tent, at least until the sound of his name draws his attention.

Caeldori?! Ignoring the fire in his injured arm, Andrei pushes himself upright in an attempt to be as presentable as possible, legs swinging over the edge of the cot. A few healers look over, but make no move to stop him. "As well as I can be," he answers her question wryly, though he couldn't help a genuine smile lighting his features at her presence, and his next words come sincere. "I am glad you've returned. I trust everything was well with your home and family?"

At the mention of his pegasus, the archer pauses, heat seeping up his neck unbidden. Not a question he's prepared to answer, really. Because of you sounds improper on too many levels, even if the truth is exactly so. "It's merely... well, flying on Belle hadn't been... too bad, as far as first experiences go," he says evasively. A bold claim, given their ordeal in Tagzig, but the small moments of camaraderie in between the dangers had given the experience irreplaceable meaning anyhow. "Flying itself is enjoyable, though lancemanship doesn't come nearly as naturally to me as archery," he admits.

#venalier #so funny story ur dad's boss beat me up--#➵ caeldori 05

11 notes · View notes

kierancaz · 2 years ago

Text

𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫/𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬/𝐨) 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐: 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

A/N: k so bc I couldn’t fit everything I wanted into my first one shot I decided I would make some headcanons of the same concept. You might have to go read part one for this

Warnings: mentions injury and burns, possible spelling and grammar mistakes,

Synopsis: after Legolas finds out about you and your dragon, these are some things I think would happen. (The Dragons name is Shernka in case you didn’t read part one)

༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻

❥ ok sooo after Legolas gets over the fact that you’ve been hiding a dragon inside Greenwoods boards he has questions

❥ for starters: how did you meet this dragon?

❥ you’d have to explain to him that you found her injured and decided to nurse her back to health

❥ and since she couldn’t fly on her own you started building saddles and new tail fins for her so that you could fly together (yah we’re going the toothless route with this shut up)

❥ it takes him a while before he and Shernka actually get along

❥ i don’t think that Legolas would ever be fully comfortable on dragon back. He much prefers to have his feet on the ground

❥ that is unless he’s flying with you.

❥ he trust you to know what you’re doing. Also he just likes being that close to you but shhhhhh

❥ after he really starts developing like a hard core crush Shernka knows IMMEDIATELY and becomes even more of a menace

❥ after a while you tell him that you want to leave Mirkwood to study dragons and because you know you can’t keep Shernka trapped in that clearing forever

❥ and by then Legolas is already totally whipped so he’s just like “ok so when are we leaving?”

❥ he just kinda dips with you and tells his dad like “yo I have another adventure I need to go on bubYEEEEE”

❥ he just escapes with you in the middle of the night

❥ he likes it when your flying together at night because not only is he close to you but he’s closer to the stars and what more could he want then that?

❥ studing dragons was a rough and most of the times you ended up with burns and cuts and occasionally broken bones

❥ Legolas low key becomes a mother hen

❥ he’s always chiding you about taking to many risks and how reckless you are and you’re just like “but it’s for SCIENCE” “AND SO THAT MAKES GETTING INJURED OK????” “……yes.”

❥ he wants to strangle you sometimes

❥ but he has to admit that he loves seeing this side of you, you were always so quiet and awkward so he loved seeing you when you were totally in your element talking about something that you loved

❥ most nights are spent with the two of you leaning against shernka, cuddled up with the fire barely going, it’s very peaceful most nights

❥ he likes to watch you draw sketches and take notes of the dragons you’re currently researching

❥ remember when I said Shernka becomes a menace after she figures out Legolas is in love with you??? Yah well she’s alway pushing you guys together.

❥ literally she’ll always use her head to shove him into you when you have your back turned to him

❥ or she’ll just walk around you two and force you closer together

❥ she loves being a jerk though also so sometimes she just uses her tail to trio Legolas so when he falls flat on his ass you can rush over and dote on him a bit

❥ see? She’s helping it’s all part of her master plan. She totally doesn’t just like being an asshole to Legolas because he took her bestie. That’s totally not the case guys why are you making that face ???

❥ anyway whenever you get hurt he’s always very gentle when he’s patching you up

❥ he gets a little nervous though because usually you’re doing something else while he’s patching you up like drawing or writing or just rambling and you’re practically like sitting in his lap

❥ i’m imagining a confession happing one day just because he’s so exasperated with your dragon loving antics and accidentally calls you “meleth nìn” instead of “mellon nìn”

❥ immediately after he’s just like “oh shit” and is trying to stutter out both an explaination and an apology at the same time. Shrenka is laughing in the background.

❥ he’s terrified because you’re not saying anything oh my god why aren’t you saying anything ????

❥ eventually he just offers to leave and he stands up but you stop him and you’re like “where do you think you’re going meleth nìn you need to finish patching up my arm.”

❥ give him a kiss afterwords you really stressed him out with that long ass silence

407 notes · View notes

megaana135 · 3 years ago

Text

So I am currently working on a (what was supposed to be short but is turning dreadfully long) geraskier fanfic about Jaskier giving little items to Geralt and always saying "thought of you" when he gives them (he calls them forget-you-nots) and it just becomes a thing™️ for them to do together. Shiny marble on the ground the color of jaskiers eyes? "Thought of you." Gold hair ribbon found in a floorboard of an inn? "Thought of you."

And its something Geralt slowly gets used to and he think of it as their thing up until he meets with the bard in oxenfurt and sees him and Priscilla doing it for one another.

So naturally geralt is a lil hurt (though he won't admit it) and also draws the conclusion that it's something sort of special to do with people you care for and think of in some capacity. So he tries to do it with Yennefer but she doesn't really care at the time or get it and that just hurts more ouch.

Then come the mountain breakup, and he's traveling with ciri, and he keeps finding things and putting them in a little saddle bag. Ciri asks about them and brightens up when he tells her (though God does it hurt, it feels like swallowing glass to say his name again) only to discover that jaskier was visiting her and doing the same thing as he watched over the witchers child surprise.

And she enlightens him and tells him that yes he's partially right, but Forget-You-Nots are for the people you really truly love. And all at once Geralt feels like an idiot because the frequency of the gifts was a little alarming especially compared to how often he'd see jaskier save something for one of his other friends.

Que the feelings realization and panic.

Que ciri demanding they find Jaskier.

And we find out jaskiers stuffed his bag under a bed and refused to think about it, any tokens he'd been saving had gotten tossed or thrown. And geralt has a whole saddlebag bursting at the seams for his bard.

Of course we get a montages of Jaskier joining them to kaer morhen, Priscilla tagging along for a bit just to make sure the witcher won't hurt her best friend again. And Geralt is slowly giving jaskier these gifts and sure enough after enough time the bard starts to find things to give him again. Though he still isn't giving as many as he used to, which hurts but geralt understands.

It all comes to a head when Jaskier stumbles into Geralts room one day looking for some thread to mend a shirt or something, only to find rows of shelves crammed full of everything he'd ever given the witcher. And he's crying because he just assumed geralt would keep them out of politeness and then toss them somewhere when they parted but he saved all of them.

(Which is hilarious to look back on years later because how on earth did the witcher not realize he was in love with the bard?)

And then idk I haven't gotten that far

Anyway. If someone else wants to write something like this feel free to, I'd love to see it! Later I'll add onto this with a snippet from it. Idk when it'll be done cuz I've been working on it since last March and I'm only 1/6 of the way through. But if people are interested it might motivate me to finish it!

1K notes · View notes

againwiththeturtles · 2 years ago

Text

a continuation of this post

Throughout the show Sokka has 5 weapons (important ones, anyway) His spear, club, machete, boomerang and space sword. 

He loses the spear in "The Avatar Returns” when Zuko snaps it in half, and he learns that you can’t rely only on bravery and determination, you have to hone some skills. He isn’t quite sure what his skills are, but he’s going to figure it out. He tries to be the person who collects food ("collect" bc Aang is a vegetarian, so hunting won’t help everybody) but this fails again and again. In fact, it's a running joke that Sokka is always hungry yet bad at getting food. But then, in "Avatar Day", he loses his boomerang. At first, he’s ~distraught.~ (“I feel like I’ve lost my identity”) Then, Aang gets thrown in prison, and BAM he has purpose again! And what is that purpose? Using his brainy skills! Investigating! Cooking up plots to get Aang out of jail bc the pacifist monk doesn’t want to use violence (again). And as he’s getting used to this niche in the group, he becomes very possessive of it, basically telling Katara to stay in her lane (she has her waterbending! She has something!) He gets his boomerang back at the end of the episode, and boy is he happy to see it, but he has a healthier view of it now. It’s a tool that he’s very good at using, but he’ll be okay without it.

He loses the club in the desert when Appa is stolen. As we know, he immediately gets high on cactus juice, which doesn’t give us much to draw on. There’s something to be said about him falling back on his need to provide for his friends and get them water, but the important part comes when the gaang meets up with Suki. She helps him see that he doesn’t need to be The Protector, and he’s valuable to his friends, his tribe, his family, and to her even when he’s not doing anything. In the next episode (The Drill) he very excitedly and verbally takes on his role as the “plan guy,” and comes up with the idea for how to take down the drill. Bam! Purpose re-acquired. He’s starting to see that he doesn’t need the title of warrior, to justify his place in this group (or, like. in life in general). He has strengths outside of them.

Now, Hakoda briefly replaces the club in "The Guru”: when Sokka is planning to join his father’s crew for a mission, and be a warrior like he always wanted. But, Aang interrupts him; he needs him to help save Katara from uncertain peril. Aang doesn’t need him to be a warrior in that moment, he needs emotional support, grounding, and a plan (a plan!! from the plan guy!) So, Sokka returns the club to his dad, and he doesn’t fulfill what he thought his destiny was, but he does rescue the Earth King from Azula.

The machete is interesting, because he uses it often, but almost exclusively not for fighting. He chops the vines in the swamp, he cuts that valve in the drill, he uses it to hunt, and he holds it up a few times like he *might* use it to fight you, but usually doesn’t, or just uses his boomerang. Even when he uses it in a fight, it’s in a clever way, like when he uses it to cut ropes off of his wrists, or when he cuts the saddle off of that rhino in “Avatar Day.” But, even the machete is holding him to the ideal of who he thinks he needs to be. & that's why it has to be taken from him when he, Toph, & Momo try to warn the Earth King about the coup, and they are thrown in jail. In this episode, he does almost no fighting. He has that moment with Ty Lee, but he’s just dodging her, never even reaching for the 2 weapons on him. Toph does most if not all of the heavy lifting, while Sokka leads the way and does the talking.

It isn’t until “Sokka’s Master” that he confronts these losses. He doesn't *mention* the lost weapons, but he feels their absence. Although he's gotten closer to accepting himself, it’s hard. He’s in the Fire Nation, and he’s been waiting his whole life to fight these people, but now that he’s here, he’s doing a lot of standing to the side and waiting. He can’t even use his boomerang since they’re undercover. The planning stage is pretty much done for now; they’re just moving into position. Aang can bend 3 out of 4 elements, Toph has invented metalbending, Katara continues to fight and heal as a master waterbender... and he’s just kinda here. He’s lost all his weapons, and what does he have to replace them? Not much, as far as he can see. Even his friends can’t put what makes him useful and important into words.

But then he goes to Piandao, and even though the guy is supposed to teach him how to use a sword, Sokka learns about his other strengths, and not just because Piandao is nudging him in that direction. Sokka purposefully changes the tasks to better suit him, just like he's been doing for the past 6 months. He has always wanted to be a warrior, but when he gets the chance, he still does his own thing!! So, this episode isn’t about Sokka finally becoming a warrior, like he thought, but coming to realize that his destiny is just as real as everyone else's, it just lies where he hasn't yet thought to look.

Then, of course, he loses his boomerang and space sword when he and Toph are hanging on the edge of the war balloon. It's the end of the war, so his time when he has to be a warrior for his sister, his family, his tribe, and the world is coming to an end. In the past, he heavily tied his identity and self worth to his ability to use his weapons to fight, but now he knows himself free of the duty he has to others. He’s good enough as he is. And since he knows that, losing his boomerang doesn't even matter to him (unless he could’ve found a way to save himself & Toph with it). The space sword hurts a little more, bc making it was when his hard work as an inventor, a tactician, and an artist was finally noticed and validated by someone he looked up to, but he doesn't need the sword to prove it anymore either.

At the very end, he’s sitting and painting, something he learned with Piandao. And yes, he learned to paint in pursuit of wielding a sword, but by the finale, he paints for the sake of it. The sword is gone, the war is over, his leg is broken, and here he is: painting a picture of his friends, who are all gravitating towards him.

#in conclusion: sokka is not a jock #this is a longish one but sokka deserves it #sokka #sokka avatar #atla #avatar the last airbender #by the way. this was in the drafts for. longer than i've had this blog #this is my thesis paper for this blog ok?!!!?#& i don't even have the right url for it anymore. i miss it actually #gray speaks #oh & also i remember mourning that space sword every time i watched the finale #i still do in a way #but it's a really good thing 😭 he's changing to become the person he was meant to be #not the person the war forced him to be #and whatever emotion that is (satisfaction? excitement?) feels a lot stronger than the grief

92 notes · View notes

frauleindermorgen · 1 year ago

Text

@justices-blade (cont from x)

“Ohhh! Yeah, that makes sense, I think?” It’s a — whatsit, a reenactment? It’s still weird the Deer can participate (and win so much), especially if Leicester hadn’t even been there when it happened. Why would you divide the classes by region, anyways? Doesn’t that take out half the fun in getting to know new people? If one team won too often, wouldn’t the rest get sick of it? (Could someone start a war over a war game?? Is that a thing that happens???) The thought doesn’t stay for long, petering out as soon as it shows signs of heading into bloodier places. There’s no need to contemplate all that, not with the seasonal cheer and Micaiah at his side — He basks in the warm lights of the Yuletide decorations, grinning to himself about a number of things — How proud Nolan’s gonna be, how tasty the meat pie is, warm in his hands and deliciously savory, and how good it is to be with friends again. Friends; There’s looking forward to the company, the company itself, and the sharing; time, food, words, secrets, spars. The mention of a spar makes his eyes light up — Is it even a question that he wants to see what Micaiah learned, too? He wants to keep running after her sunlight, catch up to the horizon and walk that line in perfect step. He can’t get rusty when she still has so much to do for Daein, and when she calls on him — Not for sweet-talking nobles, not for sitting in some suite at the castle — He’ll be there and he’ll be ready. He is ready!

“Yeah, of course!” he exclaims, between wiping crumbs from his mouth with the back of his hand. “You better give me your best, hear? I want to see everything you’ve learned.” A little cackle, a little joke cracked in return for her secret, just so she knows it’s tucked away safely. “If you do, I might want to pick it up, too!” Their feet turn to carry them towards the blacksmith’s, the charm of the season still drawing his eye unfalteringly. There’s a little reindeer decoration set on a roof, standing in rows, and grey eyes follow it, bright. “It’d be so cool to see you casting from horseback, though,” he whispers, leaning over, breath fogging in the winter air. “You should definitey try it!”

“I do not entirely understand it myself,” Micaiah admits, “but I enjoy seeing all the classes coming together in good cheer. Ah, not that we are so scattered as to never cross paths otherwise, but I suppose with the Black Eagle’s focus on magic I have been a bit preoccupied.”

That, political theory, and strategy have been her focus here and she envies Edward for a moment that he can rush forward with a singular goal, when she must keep the entirety of Daien in the back of her mind constantly but that envy simmers down to the warmth of admiration as she considers what he means to her; after all, seeing Edward and the rest of her treasured family make progress is what she knows will continue to give her strength in the hard days to come.

“Hehe, you will almost certainly have the advantage in a spar, but I would very much like to try and test… well that’s a secret!”

One of her professors was very into the advantages of pitfall traps, and though Micaiah felt just a bit like it was cheating she had a feeling Edward would take to the practice with a gusto she could never muster. They could learn together, by action, without risk this time and Micaiah intended to appreciate that for as long as she could.

She links arms with him again once they’ve finished their snacks, pointing out the various weapon stalls on the way though of course they and most other shoppers are drawn to the larger blacksmith’s place with a kiln particularly as light snow has begun to fall.

“I am sure you will do more than just pick it up! But ah, as ‘cool’ as it might look I just haven’t been able to saddle a horse just yet. Though I think I’ve gotten better at caring for them in the stables! It’s just it was all of us on foot for so long against the Begnion soldiers and I…”

She says no more, just leans into him and lets her eyes speak of the fears she cannot and eventually the anxiety lessons and the heat of blacksmith’s remind her that they are safe and here together.

“Oh, the gauntlet section is massive! Try some on. I think I’ll buy a holiday gift for you in the mean time.”

hug all your friends

#thread | hug all your friends #justicesblade #//weird glitch with me trying to nuke the prev post so it is time for thread moving #//i love themMMMMMM #//parallels in our writing that were unplanned :softsmile: just dawn brigade things

4 notes · View notes

queenxxxsupreme · 4 years ago

Text

Aftermath (Arthur Morgan x f!reader)

A/N: Here is my masterlist and here is the link to go to if you’d like to be on any of my taglists! My latest rdr2 fic was a Charles fluffy piece called The Chase if you want to check it out :)

Warnings: mentions of falling off a train, hurt reader, descriptions of wounds and blood, but mostly fluffiness

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: After a heist ends badly, Arthur cleans you up and chastises you for not being more careful.

***

Your horse came to a stop in front of the hitch post just outside of camp. You paused for a moment to breathe now that you were safe.

Your heart was still racing from the events of earlier and your hands gripped your horse’s reins so tightly that your knuckles hurt. But that pain was nothing compared to the rest of your body.

“Need a hand, Y/N?” Lenny asked, tying his horse up and moving towards you.

“Get me down before Arthur-,” You stopped, the sound of hooves pounding against the earth making your stomach clench up. You knew it was him.

Lenny helped you down from your horse, catching you as you slipped down from the saddle. You tried to put weight on your left leg, but the pain in your ankle was too much. You nearly collapsed.

“Easy there, Y/N.” Lenny kept his arm around you.

Your eyes caught sight of Arthur and John coming into camp.

“Go, Lenny.” You urged, letting him go and giving him a push away from you.

“Are you sure, Y/N? You can’t even stand on your own.”

“I’ll be fine, Lenny.” You assured him, leaning against the hitch post for support. “He’s angry and I don’t want him yellin’ at you.”

“Tie ‘er up.” You heard Arthur tell John, no doubt talking about his horse. You couldn’t bring yourself to look in the direction of his voice.

You took a deep breath and started to make your way across camp to yours and Arthur’s tent. You gritted your teeth together. Your nails dug into your palms from how tightly your fingers were curled up. But you pushed through the pain and kept going. You just needed to make it to the tent before Arthur could make a scene in front of everyone.

“Y/N!” Susan gasped. “What in the hell happened to you, girl?”

You wanted to shake it off, to tell her you were fine, but you knew if you opened your mouth you’d make some sort of pained sound, something that would alert a certain outlaw that you were more injured than you let on.

“Don’t let her walk away from you, Mrs. Grimshaw.” Arthur spoke, his voice deep and devoid of the usual teasing tone he had when he spoke towards you.

“What happened, Arthur?” Hosea moved towards you both, wanting to make sure you were okay.

You shook your head, still hastily walking in the direction of the tent.

“Y/N!”

You didn’t acknowledge Arthur.

“Don’t you walk away from me, woman!”

You were so close to the tent, maybe another six steps and then you’d be able to—

A large hand grabbed hold of your arm and he pulled you around to face him. You lost your balance, stepping on to your left leg. You cried out in pain and your knee buckled.

Arthur caught you, one of his arms wrapping around your torso while the other grabbed your hip.

“Let me go, Arthur!” You pushed against him, your hands flat against his chest as you tried to put as much space between yourself and him as possible.

“Don’t be fucking stupid, Y/N. Ya got a busted ankle. Shouldn’t be walkin’ on it.”

“I can handle it my-damn-self!” You protested, still pushing against him. You tried to pry his hands away from you, to break his firm grip on you by grabbing his fingers and pulling away but he wasn’t letting go.

“Quit being so goddamned stubborn, woman.” Arthur growled through clenched teeth. “Ya just fell off a fuckin’ movin’ train! Stop tryin’ to act so tough!”

“Get your hands off of me, Arthur Morgan!”

“Enough!” Dutch boomed, sending a wave of silence across the whole camp. It was only then that you realized everyone was watching you look like a fool.

Arthur released you. The second he did, your weight was naturally distributed to both of your legs. You winced and lost your balance, using a crate by John and Abigail’s tent for support.

Arthur flinched as if he’d catch you, but you caught yourself before he could come to the rescue.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Dutch asked, a furrow in his brow.

“M’fine.” You forced through gritted teeth. “Wish people would stop askin’ me that.”

“Looks like you got into a bad fight at the saloon and lost.” Micah commented.

“I’ll fucking show you a bad fight, you fucking inbreed-,”

“You better watch your mouth-,”

“I might be torn to hell but I will beat your ass into the ground-,”

“Cool it, both of you!” John intervened, stepping in front of Micah.

“You can barely stand on your own, and you’re covered in blood.” Dutch said.

“S’not my own.” You muttered, but he didn’t bother to listen to you. “Least I don’t think it is.”

“We don’t need you dyin’ off from an infected wound, Y/N. If you won’t let Arthur help you patch yourself up, have one of the girls do it.”

You nodded, locking your jaw tightly.

Hosea shooed everyone away, knowing very well you’d pick Arthur. You were thankful that he’d give you guys some privacy. It was hard when the only walls you had in camp were made of canvas.

“Are ya gonna stop bein’ a stubborn ass so I can help you?” Arthur asked.

You nodded, keeping your eyes down.

He moved towards you, carefully scooping you up bridal style. You winced, eyes squeezing shut. The way you were moved created a sharp pain in your ribs.

Arthur took you to your shared tent and sat you down on the cot.

“Start taking off your clothes.” He moved away from you and began to unravel the sides of the tent to give you privacy.

Your hands were too heavy. Your muscles ached. Even the thought of moving brought on pain. You knew very well you wouldn’t be able to undress by yourself.

Arthur glanced over his shoulder to look at you and saw that you were just staring at the picture of his mother he had framed on the chest next to the cot.

“Pumpkin?”

“Hm?” You didn’t tear your eyes away from the picture. He could see it in your eyes. You weren’t really there with him. You were in your head. Arthur let out a gentle sigh, rubbing the side of his head, and moved to kneel down in front of you. The movement caught your attention, drawing your eyes to him.

You took in a little breath, straightening your posture as your eyes focused on him.

“M’gonna go get some things to clean you up with. Get some of your clothes off so I can see what we gotta deal with okay?” His voice, though deep and rumbly, was sweet and gentle. “Maybe put on your little gown, okay? That way we can see everything without you bein’ so uncovered.”

You said nothing, but you kept your eyes on him, on his lips more specifically. He wasn’t sure if you were actually getting everything he was saying, or if you were still zoned out.

“Can you do that for me, pumpkin?”

You nodded your head a little.

He rubbed the outside of your thigh before standing up and leaving the tent.

You watched him go and for some reason seeing him leave made your heart beat harder and faster. Tears stung your eyes and you quickly brought your hand up to wipe them away.

The events of earlier that day flashed through your head.

It was supposed to be an easy train robbery. Dutch and Hosea had planned it out with Arthur taking the lead. You joined him with Lenny, John, Javier, and Sean.

Everything went smoothly until another group of eight men on horses showed up with plans to rob the train themselves. And as luck would have it, you used to run with one of the men. He was anything but a nice guy and definitely not someone you wanted to run into during a heist.

When Arthur returned to the tent, he found you sitting on the cot hunched forward with your head in your hands. You weren’t changed out of your clothes and it appeared that you were crying.

He placed the bowl of warm water down on the chest by the cot and put the other supplies in his arms down as well.

He knelt down in front of you, large hands wrapping around your wrists to pull your hands from your face. Your cheeks were stained with tears and your eyes were red.

“Are you cryin’ cause I was yellin’ at ya?”

You shook your head.

“Are you hurtin’?”

You nodded.

“Where at, pumpkin?”

“Everywhere, Arthur.” You cried quietly. “I-I’m so-sorry.”

“Don’t start that now.” He shook his head. “Won’t do you any good to start apologizin’ while you’re upset like this. It’ll just make ya even more upset. Don’t want ya makin’ yourself sick. Now let’s get you outta these clothes.”

“I-I can’t-Arthur, I’m just-,” You couldn’t seem to form sentences even though you knew what you wanted to say. The adrenaline had worn off and you were exhausted. You just wanted to sleep, but you knew Arthur wouldn’t let you do that just yet.

“S’alright, pumpkin. I’ll help ya.” He reached up and began to unbutton your shirt.

You fell silent, sniffling every now and then.

Once your shirt was unbuttoned, he carefully pulled it off of your shoulders.

“Shit, Y/N.” Arthur cursed under his breath. With your shirt gone, the bruising on your arms and chest could now be seen.

There were hand-shaped bruises along your upper arms and a few cuts on the back of your right forearm. Your chest had a long bruise across it too. It was an odd pattern and Arthur couldn’t figure out quite what it was.

“I-I didn’t….” Arthur reached out to tentatively trace his fingers over the bruising on your bicep. “Did I….?”

“No.” Your voice was raspy. “That’s not from you. There was a man on the train. He caught me off guard. He’s the one who gave me a busted face.”

Arthur pressed his lips together in a firm line. You could see the anger festering behind his eyes. His large hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across the corner of your cracked lips. You winced a little. He apologized softly.

“What about the one on your chest?”

“There was another feller, he used a metal bar to clothes line me.”

He pulled his hand from your face, eyes lingering on the nasty bruise on your chest.

“The second I got my footing, I put a knife between his ribs.”

“That’s my girl.” He praised, making your heart race.

Arthur reached around you to find the strings to your corset. With one effortless tug, the corset loosened and you took a breath.

“I know you’re happy to be outta that.” Arthur tossed the corset to the foot of the cot. “Ya think you could stand so we can get your jeans offa ya?”

“I can stand on my right, but not my left.”

“I’ll be on your left. You lean against me. How about that?”

You nodded. Arthur stood up and helped you to your feet. You slipped an arm around his shoulders, grabbing a fistful of his jacket to brace yourself. He put an arm around you too.

“How am I supposed to get my jeans off when I got one arm around you and you got one arm around me?” You asked him.

He paused for a moment and you watched as he thought about it.

“Well, I gotta hand and you gotta hand. Why don’t we use ‘em both?” He suggested.

You giggled.

It took some effort, but the two of you worked together to unbutton your jeans and get them down.

Arthur nearly had a heart attack when he saw the cut on your thigh. How did he not see it before?

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.”

“M’fine, Arthur.”

He got you into your nightgown and then sat you back down on the bed.

He started with the thigh wound, cleaning the dried blood and then wrapping a bandage around your leg. From there, he looked down at your ankle. A bruise had already formed and around the joint was swollen.

He sighed out, then turned his attention to the bowl of warm water. He dipped the clean rag into the water and rung it out. His eyes flickered up to your face. He paused for a moment.

Your nose had been bleeding but now the blood was smeared across your cheek, dried. Bruising trailed from underneath your eye down to your cheekbone where a cut was from a fist. Your lips were busted and split open. The corners of your eyes were black and blue. Your nose didn’t look broken, so that was good.

He let out another sigh. You knew he was trying to keep his emotions at bay.

“I…. Arthur, m’sorry.” You whispered, your voice breaking from how quiet you were.

He shook his head. His jaw ticked as the muscle tightened. He was gritting his teeth together.

“How could you be so stupid, Y/N? Told you to wait for Javier or John. I knew there were men coming but you didn’t listen.”

“You would’ve done the same.”

“But I wouldn’t’a been thrown from the goddamned train.”

“You don’t know that.” You mumbled under your breath.

Arthur took hold of your chin, turning your head so you had no choice but to look at him.

“Don’t get that way with me, pumpkin.” He started to wipe blood from under your nose. “You could’ve died today. I…. I could’ve lost ya.”

You fell silent.

He cleaned the blood from your face, using soft, gentle brushes with the rough rag.

“Arthur? Y/N?” Mary Beth spoke from outside of the tent.

“It’s alright, Mary Beth.” Arthur dipped the rag into the water. “You can step in.”

You looked to him then down at his chest.

“Just wanted to bring Y/N some supper. Thought maybe she’d be hungry.” Her eyes found you and she gasped softly. “Oh, Y/N. You….” She trailed off.

“I’m okay.” You assured her, offering her a little smile.

“Thank you, Mary Beth.” Arthur took the bowl of soup from her and placed it down on the chest by the cot.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” She asked softly.

“Get me some fresh water in this bowl please, would ya?” Arthur asked her.

“Of course.”

As she slipped out of the tent, Arthur returned his attention to you.

“The man who threw me over….” You started, but trailed off, unable to finish.

“I’m gonna find him and kill ‘em.”

“No, Arthur.” Your eyes widened as you looked up at Arthur. “Please. You-You have to promise me never-to never go after him. I’m-I’m fine. Just a little beat up is all.”

Arthur furrowed his brows together.

“Do you…. You know that feller, don’t you?”

“Used to run with him.” You answered quietly. “He’s not someone you play with, Arthur. He’s worse than Micah.”

Arthur sighed through his nose.

“And you didn’t think to tell me back there that you knew him?”

“It wasn’t really high on my list when we had fellers shootin’ at us, Arthur.”

He rubbed his brow.

“I know you’re mad at me.”

“M’not mad at ya, pumpkin. Just…. I was scared that I was gonna lose you.”

You turned your head away from him but he wouldn’t let you look away for very long. With two fingers beneath your chin, he turned your head back to him.

“When I saw you go over the side of that train, I-I fuckin’ lost it. Nearly beat the piss outta poor Lenny ‘cause he was in my way. Couldn’t get to you fast enough.” Arthur shook his head. He brushed a tear from your cheek. “When we finally stopped the train and I found you….” He trailed off.

“It don’t matter now, Arthur. I’m here.” You reminded him, turning your head to kiss his palm.

“Yeah, but that’s not the point, Y/N.”

“We got dangerous lives, Arthur. You can’t protect me from everything.”

“I can damn sure try.” He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “You mean the world to me, pumpkin. Ain’t gonna let shit happen to you. Even if that means I gotta stop you from doin’ stupid shit.”

You smiled a little, leaning forward to tuck your head underneath his chin.

Taglist: @doggone-cowgirl @winterwolf @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @krenee1drful @zodiacaldust @nonodino @gabstaroc @cal-lifornication @thefirelordm

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x reader fluff #arthur morgan fluff #rdr2 #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fic #rdr2 fluff #arthur morgan oneshot #queenxxxsupreme

455 notes · View notes

writingsfromspace · 2 years ago

Text

The First

679 words | from the universe of The Stenotypist & the Dragonslayer

Prompt | Storms and thorns - @flashfictionfridayofficial

An writing! Would you believe! Little post-canon retelling of a pre-canon story, in which a baby dragonslayer has an Encounter.

»Tell me a story.«

»Hmmm? What?« It was a cozy evening, rain pouring down outside, and Braen was holding Vits in his arms and just about ready to drift off to sleep when Vits jumped the question at him.

»You know… you must have seen a lot. Out there in the forest. You always like telling me about it.«

»Hmmm… Well. A story. Right. Okay.« He paused, until the rain pattering down on the house reminded him…

»This was when I was like - nineteen? Still in training, of course. Just had started accompanying the real adult dragonslayers on their patrols.«

It had begun as a day like any other. The forests were still new and exciting to Braen, but he was too meek to even try to do anything stupid as he trundled along between the two dragonslayers who had been saddled with him. He remembered their names, of course, but they would mean nothing to Vits, so he didn’t bother.

The storm rolled in equally quick and unexpected. »I’d never seen anything like it. One minute, it was all bright and, you know, peaceful, and the next it might have been night. We were kind of protected from the wind between the trees, but… it wasn’t enough. And suddenly it was so quiet…

We were like half an hour from the city, but they determined we weren’t going to make it. So we sheltered in this little clearing, no tall trees, fairly safe from any that might fall, and then the rain started coming down. You probably would have been swept away, shorty.«

»Oh, you wish.«

Braen laughed and squeezed Vits before he continued. »I mean, the water was standing. And of course, lightning, so going back among the trees wasn’t an option, but sitting in water wasn’t exactly ideal either. And that was when I saw my first dragon.«

He knew he didn’t have to impress upon Vits the shock of it. Even with his training, even with the tales the dragonslayers spun for the recruits, he had not been prepared for the black hole appearing at the edge of the forest, its blank white eyes fixed on their little group. It was as soaked as they were, but even so it barely glistened in the low light, its skin swallowing all that was left of it.

They made for the forest, somewhere less exposed to the monster. Braen’s fingers itched to draw his sword, anything to put between himself and it, but he knew, even then, to wait for the command - and the way he was stumbling backwards, in hindsight, even a regular sword would have done more harm than good.

The dragon followed them, on foot, across the clearing, leisurely, as if it knew they couldn’t escape.

The eldest, leading the patrol, brought them to a small gully, enough to protect them from attacks from the side. It was flooded, of course, but the water, although rapid, wasn’t more than knee-deep.

»Kid.« Braen remembered his leader’s deep voice like it had been yesterday. »Back to the city. Run.«

There was no room to argue, although a part of him certainly wanted to; another, though, was glad, oh so glad, to get out of there.

He dashed through the gully. He’d underestimated the water, lost his footing more than once; but he was already soaked from the rain, and he managed to get through, raced through a forest creaking with the onslaught of wind and rain. Thorns tore at him, wet leaves slipped from under him; once his momentum sent him flying into a tree so hard he cracked his nose.

But he made it home, alive.

»And you weren’t scared to go back?« Vits asked, after a long pause.

Braen shrugged. He didn’t like it when Vits acted like he was some kind of hero. Everyone else was already doing that.

Vits rested his head back on his chest. »Well, I am kind of glad your first encounter wasn’t all that much better than mine.«

Braen chuckled, and held him close, listening to the rain.

#writing #writeblr #fff161 #flash fiction friday #flash fiction #thorns and storms #dragon #stenotypist and dragonslayer #vitsorin #braenar #writings from space

7 notes · View notes

lemonjoonah · 4 years ago

Text

Blood Bounty - Part 1 (M)

Pairings: Yoongi x Reader, Taehyung x Reader Word Count: 10K Rating: M Genre: Historical fantasy AU, Vampire AU, Thriller, Drama, Smut Warnings: Non-consensual vampire feeding (graphic, provocative, sexual, blood play, and twisted as fuck), captivation/enslavement, blood, drugging (force feeding vampire blood), obsession, violence, PTSD, at one point the OC pleads for death, it’s dark guys you’ve been warned. While the vampire feeding in this part is highly sexualized, I do have somewhat more “traditional” smut scenes planned for part 2 and 3.

| Series Masterlist |

Summary: He’s taken everything from you, your blood, your memories, your life, and after months spent as Taehyung’s own personal feast, you eagerly take your chance to flee. Unfortunately your escape doesn’t go as well as you had hoped, as you are soon caught by another blood thirsty beast. The vampire Yoongi claims to know you, and that he wishes to return you home. But when you can only remember the pain caused by his kind, you find it difficult to trust him, since he too could just be another monster waiting to feed.

A/N: This mini-series is a loose retelling of Anastasia, you’ll find it to be very different from the animated film. I attempted to blend both the history and the story together in a new historical fantasy world that is not our own. Anyway I hope you enjoy the start to my three part twisted tale, and if you have any questions at the end please feel free to send them my way! Also a big thank you to my beta readers @m00nchild-shi and @ladyartemesia. This story wouldn’t have made it this far without you!

This story is dedicated to all of those who have lost themselves to a monster (of any form) at some point in their life. I know the journey back to yourself can be hard, but trust me, you are worth every effort.

...

From the break of dawn you’ve crossed miles of ground, traversing through grassy fields and deep rivers. Accompanied only by the clothes on your back, a stake in your hand, and a pair of boots far too big for your feet, all stolen during your hastened departure.

You consider yourself lucky after making it out unseen. Lucky that Taehyung had left his fortress of a castle, lucky that he took most of his capable progenies with him, lucky that the underling who tended to your room left the fire iron within your reach, and lucky that it was able to break the chain of the shackle fastened around your wrist. You left as soon as daylight broke. With everything working in your favour for your escape, even acquiring your captor’s clothes and cap to pass off as a young man. For sightings of a woman travelling alone might tip off those you would rather avoid.

But now, with your heels raw and bloody, it would seem that your good fortune has finally run out, as the smell will no doubt attract his hunters. You curse your carelessness, for the number of times Taehyung has complimented you for your most potent scent. You’ve witnessed it yourself, a single whiff of your blood during his feedings having sent several of his men into a frenzy. This unfortunate blessing left you to be seen as a bounty, condemning you to his captivity, and now the struggle as you flee for your life.

You attempt to clean the broken skin and stem the flow with strips torn from your tunic. The fine piece of clothing is barely recognizable after the paces you’ve put it through today. With the extra fabric now wedged into your boots you can only hope that it’ll make your journey tomorrow easier, and detain much of the scent that would allow them to track you.

You wish that you could continue on tonight, but the darkness of the wood, your sores, and your fatigue impede your plans. You’ve gained ground but the lack of settlements must mean that you still lie within his realm. With your memories stolen in an effort to keep you at his side you have little to go on but a tapestry that hung in his den. It showed a city to the east, beyond the boundary of his land, and what is hopefully your home. But with the woven display having no proper scale you have no idea how long it will take to actually leave his territory. Freedom could be hours or days away. You can only hope that the rivers you’ve traversed will keep them at bay until you can find a safer place to stay. Their weaknesses are all you have to lean on to prevent recapture, but will it be enough?

After tending to your feet you settle in the nook of a tree, leaning your head against the mossy trunk. Your stomach growls but you have no food to feed it, nor a blanket to dismiss the chilling wind which forces a shiver from you. Your deflated spirit is made even worse when a raven takes notice of your poor state. It circles overhead, undoubtedly looming with the hopes that you have given in, and that he too can feast on you.

Ignoring the omen, you close your eyes, directing your focus instead on the surrounding sounds of the forest, listening for anything that might be a predator making an approach. Despite an exhausting day you still are wary of sleep, knowing what will greet you as you drift off, and concern of someone, or something catching up to you once you do. You rest there for what must be an hour, debating with yourself the advantages slumber, before you hear the snap of a nearby twig. Your fingers drift to the wooden stake on the ground next to you, your movement is slow hoping to escape the notice of whatever might be drawing closer. The footsteps which crunch on the leaves continue to advance on your position. There’s no running now, all you can do is play ignorance until they are in range for you to act.

When a hand reaches down and tilts the brim of your hat, you open your eyes, driving your weapon up in an aim to strike, but your assailant is too quick for you. He catches your arm in an iron grip, much like the remains of the manacle that still holds your other wrist. Though his face is hidden by the dark of night and his frame draped in a long coat, there is no doubt about what he is, and what he’s come for, his speed in stopping you was far too fast to be human.

“Be still,” the monster growls. “It’s me, Yoongi. Are you hurt?”

His concern is almost laughable. His implication of a connection likely a trap, one intent on luring you in, with a motive to end the hunt. “Not if you leave me be.” You attempt to press the stake towards him still, but he barely even registers your efforts.

“Have you forgotten me?” The beast’s grip tightens on your arm as he dismisses your threat, taking the stake in his own hand before he pulls you up while he continues his deception, “I know that to be what I asked for, but I didn’t think... no, it matters not. ” He shakes his head as his words trail off. His voice then returns resolute and firm once he changes thoughts. “Come, we must get you somewhere safe.”

You dig your heels into the ground as he attempts to pull you along, clawing at his fingers until they release you. “I’m not going anywhere with you vampire. You will not take me back to him, anywhere is safer than there.”

“I am not taking you back, but we must leave. They’ve already placed a large bounty on you and these parts will be flooded with hunters soon.”

“How can I be sure you’re not one of those hunters?” You make an attempt to retake the stake, showing you have no intention of complying with him. But he pulls it back, holding it just out of your grasp.

“You will have to take me at my word, I am not of Taehyung’s kin and I have no plans on handing you back over to him. Now if you please, I can either escort you to safety, or take you there by force.”

“I don’t trust you.” You glare back at him.

“Very well,” the vampire sighs, tossing your wooden weapon aside, putting it far beyond your reach. He then bends down, throwing you easily over his shoulder, and thereby ending the argument over your fate. Your fists collide with his back several times in an effort to make him release you, but he doesn’t appear bothered by the attack. You draw breath ready to call out when he stops you with a quick jostle. His shoulder lays into your abdomen knocking the wind from your lungs. “You may hit me all you want, but do not scream. I would rather not alert others to our location.”

Could he really not be someone sent by Taehyung’s underlings? Regardless, even if he is, you don’t have the strength to over power him. There’s little you can do but lay like a rag doll propped over his shoulder, with his arm hooked on the back of your knees.

He hauls you over to a break in the trees, one which leads out to the road where a horse waits patiently for him. You’re thankful when he seats you on the saddle rather than throwing you on your stomach once again. With the full light of the moon on the open dirt road, you’re finally able to see his face properly. His soft and sombre expression is a drastic difference compared to Taehyung’s sharp features and cruel grin.

“Are you going to behave now princess?”

Your eyes widen with terror in response to his last word uttered. You immediately try to pull away to put as much distance as you can between you and him, but he holds you firm in the saddle. The confining grip matching the memories of the name he has just called you all too well. Your breathing comes in short panicked waves as your hand moves to conceal the scar on your neck. You can’t go back, you won’t go back, you refuse to endure that supposed term of endearment anymore.

“Prin-” The vampire tries again to elicit a response from you, only this time you cut him off. Your fear turning to anger unwilling to tolerate another lie from his lips.

“If you are not one of Taehyung’s clan then tell me, why do you address me in that manner?”

“You don’t know why I call you princess?” He gazes upon you, his eyes narrowed in confusion as you recoil once again. This time he takes your hand, which bears the weight of both the iron shackle and bitten brand, to hold you still. When you wince from the pressure of his touch, he looks down to examine the sensitive spot. His jaw stiffens as he finds the source of the pain. “What has he done to you?” He whispers softly as his fingers trail over the wound on your palm.

...

“Open up princess, I have a gift for you,” Taehyung orders, standing over you as you sit on his desk. Gripping your jaw, while your lips remain sealed in defiance. “I said open.” His hand tightens, forcing your mouth to unfasten and expel a cry of pain. He presses the bloody tip of his finger to your tongue, dragging his index from the back to the front coating it with the thick fluid. “Now swallow.”

Your mouth begins to salivate with the intrusion of his blood. You know if you take it in you will lose everything once again, you’ll lose the will you’ve been building back up to defy him. He is never truly out of your system, you still have gaps in yourself, but the need to disobey always has its way of creeping back to you first. To be forced back into obedience within your own body and mind is nothing short of torture.

You refuse to allow him to drag you back to the dark willingly, spitting your saliva along with his blood into his smug expression.

Taehyung chuckles darkly as he wipes his face with the back of his hand. “You’re right my princess. How could I think that only a drop would be enough to dispel your greed? You deserve more.”

This time he bites into his hand allowing the blood to pool, while the other takes hold of your neck. The dripping flesh of his palm covers your gasping mouth. Your head is tilted back by his grasp as the blood drains down the back of your throat.

“You will keep this down. You will accept my control. Every time you look at yourself you will think of me. When you close your eyes you will dream of me, for you can not run away only toward. You will remember nothing before me, and nothing before the night I bestow you with this.” His thumb passes over a three month old scar on your neck, continuing to mark it as the cornerstone of the earliest memory you possess.

Every week without fail he reweaves his bonds inside you, tending to them as a doting hunter with a valued prey. He takes his fill of you in between, sometimes it’s only a taste and others a full meal. Treating his desk as a dining table and you the feast, placing you down upon it for his consumption.

“I will have to leave you weak in the knees today princess if I must go without you for a fortnight.” His finger catches a drop of blood that escapes your mouth running it back along your lips before his hand moves away and down, trailing deep red lines down the skin of your jaw and neck. “I’m sorry to leave, but there are some pressing matters which I must attend to.” He portrays a look of sorrow, but you know better than to believe that he can possess a single human emotion. “You’ll be good while I’m gone won’t you? Shall I give you something to remember me by? Another mark unhealed for you to see? You can watch as it slowly means, knowing that I’ll be back to tear you open again.”

He lifts your hand to his face with his own bloody fingers. How you wish you could slap him away, but your body refuses to move on your behalf, after consuming his blood it yields only to him.

He does not hesitate before sinking his teeth into the base of your palm. Matching his own wound that he inflicted on himself, but as yours grows deeper, his begins to heal. He takes a long draft before releasing in a pant. Your blood acts like a drug to his system, making him as he so often puts it, ‘Feel alive again.’

He wipes his palm on yours allowing the breach to clot, he doesn’t mend it completely, instead leaving the painful imprint of his teeth, branding you anew, just as promised. “Appetizer, now entree Princess,” he mutters as he moves on, shifting to cradle your head and neck in his arms. You attempt to pull away, but that only forces him to issue the command, “Stay still.”

His face hovers over the pulse of your neck, with you now frozen beneath. His fangs are careful not to dive too deep, retracting just as the blood begins to trickle from your throat. It collects in the well of your collar and trails down your chest, seeping beneath the bodice of your dress. The white fabric of your garment starts to bloom with scarlet. He could have chosen a gown of darker cloth for your personal wear, one that would be less prone to display the gruesome patterns of his actions, but he prefers to see the art of your suffering, your clothes and body becoming a canvas for his great masterpiece. He mutters how beautiful it looks while his fingers add to the display, painting a ruby-red choker around your neck using the blood as a stain.

His eyes linger taking in the sight before he moves in again to collect the flow, lapping it off your skin like a beast amidst a drought. You cringe as his tongue crosses your flesh, relentless in its desire to gather every drop it can. And just when you think he’s finished it makes another pass, accompanied by a growl and another sharp nip.

Unlike your hand, he completely remedies the gash on your neck, leaving only the one scar upon your throat from his first feeding. The loss starts to hit you, your skin turning cold like his, your breathing shallow, and your pulse quick. You hope that might be the end, that he has had his fill and needs no more, but his hand then fastens on your leg having pushed up the hem of your skirt and thin petticoat. “Let me in princess, I still have room left for dessert.” His teeth skim across the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh mapping his preferred spot from your pained twitches.

You whimper as he clamps down for his last bite. The only solace you can take is that he will not be here for two weeks. You have more time without him feeding, time to gain back control, and time to escape. You stare off to the woven tapestry map behind him, not knowing where to go but longing to be anywhere but here.

...

“D-don’t call me that.” Your demand catches and cracks at the back of your throat.

“But it’s what you are-”

“I am not his dinner, I am not his slave, and I am most certainly not his princess! I will not go back. If you have any mercy, please... drain me here. For I am far more willing to meet death, than I am to see him again. ”

To your confusion he looks shocked that you would even suggest such an act. He takes a moment before looking into your eyes with a narrowed gaze, “You don’t remember anything do you? It’s not just me you’ve forgotten.”

You shake your head, unable to meet his eyes, “I remember nothing before him.”

The vampire holds what’s left of the iron shackle in his hands, bending it apart with only his grip, freeing you from it’s clutches.

There's another sigh from him as he takes the space on the saddle behind you. His body is uncomfortably close to yours, with his breath on your neck, and arms wrapped on either side to take the reins. “And I thought he could sink no lower...” He urges the horse forward with a nudge and a few mumbled words far too low for you to hear. “You are right, you are not his meal, nor his property, but it is not simply a given moniker to which I am referring, it’s what you are. You are the only living heir of a human kingdom just east of here.”

“You lie, there is no way I could be,” This is just another game of his. It has to be. “If I am what you say, how could I have ended up where I was?”

“You went missing, disappearing from your bed in the night. Your people assume that you were kidnapped, that you were taken by a monster, not knowing what we are. But I assure you, you are the lost pr-” He stops as you stiffen once again. “I can take you home, back to your family, back to your people, if that’s what you wish.”

“And why would you do that?”

“I broke a promise long ago, I plan to remedy that mistake.”

“I fail to see how that applies to me.” You mutter as you slump down in the saddle, no longer fighting your current fate. This vampire too can easily overpower you, he can take you wherever he desires to go, but as long as it’s away from Taehyung you have no wishes to slow him down.

He pulls a skin of water from his horse’s pack offering it to you. Your dry mouth wants to empty it in one swig, but the possibility of what else it could contain holds you back. You turn your nose up instead fearing that he’s drugged it with his own blood.

“I have not tampered with it if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“You keep assuming your words carry weight with me. I will need more than that if I am to drink this.”

“If I intended to manipulate you with blood I would have done so already instead of fighting to get you on the horse.”

He’s right, it would have been far easier. You take a careful sip rolling over your tongue, trying to detect even the slightest taste of iron before your swallow.

He holds out food too, in the form of a few pieces of dried meat. Your mouth waters at the sight. The unaltered drink gives you the confidence to abandon your worries and take it, asking more questions while you eat. “You said I forgot you, but how was it that I knew you Yoo-” You pause trying to recall the name he led with when he found you.

“Yoongi.”

You wait for more but he doesn’t continue, after swallowing your current mouthful you press further. “Are you not going to tell me?”

“It would be better if you remembered.”

“You expect me to trust you, but then you hide truths?”

“I expect you to trust me because I want you to recall your truth of our encounters, not mine. When you do I will gladly discuss it with you, but not until then.” His tone is stern, boasting an air of finality to his argument.

You huff back in frustration. “Can you at least tell me how long you’ve known me?”

“More than ten years now, you were a child of fourteen when we first met.”

“So you must know my name? My real name?” You ask with near excitement, hoping it might stir up some of your past within you.

“I do.” But as he recalls it, whispering the name for you to hear, nothing happens. You thought when you heard it again that everything would come back all at once like a spell broken by one magical word. But the name that comes from Yoongi’s lips has no meaning to you, no memory, no warmth. It bestows only a cold emptiness, a fear that you’ll never quite be able to bind yourself together with the person who bore that name before.

...

Hours later Yoongi pulls his horse off the path and into the woods, trotting down what looks to be an overgrown trail. You finally come to a stop in front of a mound, backed by an elevation of stone and earth, bearing a small cave-like entrance.

“What is this?”

“An old mining site. We’ll have to stop here for now.” Yoongi helps you down off the horse before removing the tackle and taking the large pack, he ties his steed up with a long lead on a grassy patch. Once finished you follow him through the dark and into the cavern, lagging a few paces behind with your legs stiff and sore from the night’s travel.

“But there’s still another hour or two until the sunrise. Why stop here?”

“Because this is the last dark space that’s marked for the next fifteen miles.” He opens one of the bags pulling out a lantern, he lights it, dousing the cold and damp walls of the cave in a warm glow. Taking out a thick piece of paper next, he unfolds it with careful precision, laying it gently across a leather pack. He acts as though it’s a precious heirloom passed on to him from a loved one long gone. Your heart starts to race upon realization that it’s a map, and how with it’s aid you’d be able to find your own way home.

Dark circles on the heavy parchment denote what according to the key is a resting spot. He opens it further pointing to both your current position and destination, your fingers tracing over a kingdom which he says is yours. With still three times the distance you’ve travelled yet to traverse, much of your contentment fades.

Despite the blow to your morale, you continue your examination of the map, hoping to learn as much from it as you can. It’s beautifully intricate and precisely made, the only flaw is an ink smudge in the lower left hand corner, which appears to be a faint mirror image of the compass rose on the right. Likely the result of the map being folded before the ink had completely dried. You run your index over the blot feeling much the same. A partial imprint of your past life, and a great distance away from what you must have been.

Yoongi watches you with a keen eye as you attempt to commit your future route to memory. “Does it look at all familiar to you?”

“No, I remember nothing of this land.” Not the names of rivers or cities return to you. How can you call a place home if you know nothing of it? “Thank you for your assistance. I know you have to stop, but after seeing this I feel that I should keep going.” You offer cordially, praying that he’ll agree to parting ways here.

“Oh no you don’t. You’ll stay here until the sun sets, and we’ll continue together.”

“Why should I? If the sun is out I’m not at risk from vampires.”

“It is still a while before we reach your kingdom. You can see that can’t you? At least two more nights where you would be alone if I let you leave. Not to mention the risk from your own brethren. You haven’t been among other humans enough to know that they can be just as malicious.”

“Then give me your horse and I’ll out ride them.”

“When was the last time you rode a horse on your own?” He asks lowering his brow, scoffing as his tongue pokes at the side of his cheek.

“I-I...” Naturally you can’t remember, and he knows it. “I’ll be fine.”

“Yes of course you’ll be fine, it’s not like there will be vampires nipping at your heels the whole way home. Do you know I could smell the blood trailing from your feet a mile away? I can’t imagine they are in a good state. If the horse were to unseat you and run off, would you even be able to continue?”

You wince at the thought of treading forward on foot. The blisters are already a source of great agony, it’s painful to think what they would be like after another mile or two.

Yoongi notices the show of discomfort in your face, “Looks like you’ll be staying with me then your highness.”

“I’d rather not...” You're grateful he’s stopped calling you by the other title, but that still doesn’t prove his loyalty. “Why are you so insistent on taking me home? What’s in this for you?”

“Your company.”

“I am serious,” you groan, casting a dark glare back at him over the candle light.

“So am I.” He mutters his response, it’s so quiet you almost miss it.

“You are insufferable! I should be taking advantage of the daylight, I should be putting more distance between myself and his prison. You should have left me there in the forest so I wouldn’t have to deal with your so-called assistance.”

“Forgive me for wanting to keep you alive and safe. It must be truly awful to have someone come to your aid.”

“You are not someone, you’re a vampire,” you bite back against his sarcasm. “I take no pleasure in being in the company of your kind.”

Yoongi sighs looking defeated, following it with an odd request. “Give me your hand, the one with the wound.”

“Why?” You clutch your palm to your chest in defence.

“I’ll mend it properly for you, your heels too if you’d like. I want to help undo the damage that my kind has done to you. He should never have left you scarred like that.”

“He shouldn’t have fed off me in the first place!” You shout back your voice echoing off the walls.

“You’re right,” Yoongi levels with you. “But I can’t imagine you want to keep it.”

“I don’t, but I also don’t want help from you! I would rather carry this than any more of your poison. So you can keep your blood to yourself.”

“As you wish,” Yoongi responds, yet he still shifts towards you, encouraging you to back away and keep the space between you.

“I’m not going to...” His tone sounds exasperated but soon changes to a softer register as he looks at your terror ladened face. “Just, take this.” Yoongi passes over a bed roll before pulling one out for himself from the woven pack.

You stare at the bedding, questioning it, the convenience of such an item along with supplies all seem too good to be true. “Why would someone who travels alone have a second? Why would a vampire have a stash of water he can’t drink, and food he can’t eat?”

“I brought them for you. I knew you would need them on the journey.” His answer comes off as thoughtful, but the explanation still doesn’t sit right with you, surely there can be no rational reason as to why he was so ready for your escape.

“You expect me to swallow your perfect timing? That you just happened to be in the right place at the right time, ready to play the role of saviour-”

“Who said the timing was perfect? It has been anything but ideal,” Yoongi growls cutting you off. “I have been trying to get you back ever since I learned that you were taken. But we have limitations that prevented me from just storming his castle. A vampire can not enter the home of another without permission. I tried to get you, believe me I did. While you were trapped inside for five years, I was kept outside for just as long. But I have always been prepared to leave with you at a moment's notice.”

You were ready to continue your argument again just as he was to finish, but one of his last reveals disarms you with an all too unpleasant fact. “H-how long did you just say?”

“Five years?”

“No... that’s not possible, I can’t remember more than a few months.”

“Prin- your highness.” Yoongi catches himself as you turn to panic.

“Please don’t tell me that he held me for years.” You panicked whispers become sobbing pleas, you would gladly take the lie now. The thought of more tortures of imprisonment lying just below the surface of your memory is enough to make you want to do away with your entire past. Blindly tossing it all away and building it all anew, if only it worked that way.

“It’s been years, I’m so sorry, but you’ve been with- you’ve been missing for half a decade.”

“Why? Why would he take that too?” You whisper stand up clutching the scar on your neck, the mark you thought to be the first was likely a only a sequel to many. How many more lie hidden in your skin, healed and masked his blood? Feeling a pull to leave, you stumble towards the mining shaft’s entrance, unable to take another minute beside a monster who could do the same. Yoongi grabs you from behind, wrapping his hands around your waist to prevent you from progressing any further outside. You strain against him determined to go back out into the open air. “No, let me go.”

“I can’t do that, your highness.”

You turn into him pushing against his chest as you shout. “Let me go Yoongi.” He doesn’t stop you from shoving, or cursing him out. He just stands there holding tight as you take out your loss on him.

“If I were to do that his hunters would find you,” Yoongi warns. “Is that what you want? Because I’m not ready to lose you to him again...” The last of his sentiment drifts off as if he’s said too much. His grip loosens to the point where you can slip away. As much as you want to turn out and run towards the sun he’s right, you can't risk losing another five years or maybe more. He nods down to the bed roll abandoned on the ground. “You should get some rest, you’ll need it for the journey tomorrow.”

You obey, taking the bedding and lantern, wandering back farther into the cave and further away from the vampire. Slipping off your boots you find the cloth you had wedged in earlier caked with blood. You glance over to your nocturnal companion seeing if the reveal had any effect on him, but he’s already lying down, his back towards you, paying no attention. Desperate to dispose of the temptation you hold the two strips of fabric above the lantern flame. Fortunately they are dry enough to burn, leaving only ashen traces of the linen scraps. You redress your wounds with more fabric from your garment, but before curling under the blankets for the day you take one last precaution. With numerous broken branches littering the floor of the cave, you take the most jagged and sturdy, tucking in by your side. The sharp twig is not quite a stake, but a better defence than nothing at all.

...

Even after travelling all day and night with little rest it takes an age for you to fall asleep, not because of the hard ground, not due to the pain in your legs, nor the questionable motives of your new guard, but the knowledge of who you’ll see once you do. Although Taehyung’s blood has lost control of your physical movements, his hold on your mind is still tight. You know you’ll see him when you drift off, but your exhaustion is unwavering and your need of rest undeniable.

It seems like only moments after you close your eyes that you’re reunited. He lies there beside you back in his castle, with his own eyes closed, his face content with a small smile as though he’s just fed. But on this night, something’s different. You finally feel as though you have the power to fight back against him. The stake you had stolen from his collection, and promptly lost to the forest, found again by your side. You’ve always wanted this moment, taking vengeance on the one who put you through hell. Even if it is only a dream you’ll embrace it though reality.

Mere inches away from his chest your hand is stopped by his. His eyes fly open and he tackles you back. “Killing me won’t grant you freedom, it won’t stop others from coming for you.”

“Then let them come,” you sneer back at him. “For any life without you Taehyung will be a vast improvement, no matter how short or perilous.”

There’s a quizzical look on his face, his thumb pushing into your palm trying to get you to realise the stake, “Wake up your highness, it’s not what you think.”

You are pulled from the dream to find yourself with your pitiful excuse for a weapon in hand. Pointing it at Yoongi’s heart as he hovers over you. You drop it quickly, and attempt to slide out from beneath him out of fear of retaliation. “I thought you were him.”

He places a heavy hand on your shoulder preventing any further retreat on your part. “I figured that to be the case. Do you have these dreams often?” His tone is not angry, but concerned.

You relax with his understanding, “Every night, he made sure it was so.”

“I know it won’t mend the past, but I’m sorry... for what he’s done to you.”

“I’m sorry I attacked you...”

“I can’t blame you for that,” Yoongi admits with a curling smile on his lips. “If I looked at myself and saw Taehyung I would respond in the same manner.”

You let out a small chuckle, leading to a surprised expression on Yoongi’s face. His smirk soon turns into a sad smile. “I want you to know, when you are with me, you are safe. No one will feed from you, no one will touch you, myself included.”

...

You wake to the sound of a raven in the early evening, the deep croaks of the bird carrying through the mine. Keeping your head down you glance with narrowed eyes to spy on the vampire who currently ties a small roll of parchment to the leg of the dark creature. It waits patiently on his knee until the knot is firmly in place, letting out another loud cry once Yoongi’s hand retreats.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting more then?” Yoongi takes his index, and presses it down onto one of his sharp teeth, allowing a bead of blood to form on the tip. The raven then takes his finger into his beak and tilts his head back as it feeds on the red droplets. You start to gag at the sight, alerting Yoongi to your awakened state. The bird takes flight as your escort gets up to check on you, but as he comes closer you draw back. He pauses after his first couple steps, and asks from a distance instead. “Are you alright?”

“Why did you feed it your blood?” You heave again at the thought, but with little in your stomach there is nothing to come up.

“He’s delivering a letter for me. The blood is his reward; it keeps him healthy, but it also allows me to convey where he needs to go and who he needs to find.”

“It’s disgusting.”

“The raven is more than happy to take it as payment for his service. But I know of what you mean, when the exchange is done improperly...” Yoongi pauses as another wave of nausea overwhelms you again, “Forgive me, I thought you were asleep, I didn’t know you would be watching.”

“What were you sending?”

“Notice to my clan. I left my surveillance post, they will wish to know why.”

“Will that be a problem?” You hadn’t considered groups other than Taehyung’s, but if you can avoid interaction with them all the better.

“No, returning you home will be a greater blow to Taehyung. He has likely built a dependence on your blood and without you he’ll be left in a far weaker state. We might finally have a chance to diminish his hold on the region.” Yoongi takes a brief glance to the entrance and starts to pack away his supplies. “You should ready yourself to leave. The sun is almost down.”

You climb out from your bed roll to find that in the night the blood had seeped through the new makeshift bandage. Yoongi clenches his teeth, and makes another offer. “Please just let me heal them, you'll only need a drop.”

“That’s one drop too much.” You move back unsure if you should be more worried about Taehyung’s men tracking you down, or the more current and looming threat of the vampire in front of you. “Is this going to be a problem for you?” “No,” he confirms, however there’s a slight hesitation in his answer. “But you should go wash up before you lose all daylight, there’s a river just down hill.” He takes a kerchief from his pocket and places it on a rock between you. “You can have this if you’d like. I don’t have any bandages to offer, other than the treatment you find so distasteful.”

You reach out and grab it. “You won’t be getting this back.” You eye him darkly.

“That’s fine, just go clean them off before others who may be nearby take note of your aroma.” You observe him with caution, hesitating to pass by his threatening mouth to get to that of the cave’s. “Unless you want to stay and watch me eat.” He comments as he pulls out another soft flask which he carries in his jacket. You cringe as he holds in what is likely a stolen meal.

“What?” He fires back at your critical glare.

“Do you drain all your victims into wine skins, or just those you wish to save for later?”

“The one who gave me this was not my victim. They were willing to part with it.”

“Willing?” You scoff. “I find that hard to believe. Are you sure you did not slip them some of your own blood first?”

“No I did not, but if you have a problem with how I conduct my feedings you only have yourself to blame.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, you shouldn’t be so quick to judge. Now hurry, so we can make use of this night.”

You do just that, darting past him you leave the mine heading down to the river in the fading sunlight.

...

As you return Yoongi is already outside and packing the horse. With his back to you he pulls an apple from the saddle bag, and the horse turns his head towards the treat with it’s mouth open and reaching. He pulls it back and away from the creature, “I know, I know this should have been yours, but you’ve had enough grass and she needs food. Do you mind sharing?” You watch as he rubs his steed behind the ear and it gives up on it’s want for the fruit. “Thanks, next one is yours, I promise.”

“Am I to thank you or the horse for my meal?” You call out to the vampire.

“You may thank him if you like.” Yoongi hands off the apple to you as you approach.

You can’t help smile as you stand in front of the massive and beautiful stallion letting him smell the back of your hand before you reach you pet the star on his forehead. “What is his name?”

“Horse...” Yoongi admits.

“Horse? Surely you jest. Why would you not give him a proper name?”

“He went for so long without one it just stuck.” Yoongi responds as he tightens the girth of the saddle. “What would you have named him?”

“I’m not sure, but certainly not horse. You poor beast, first he deprives you of a suitable name, then an apple.” You take a few bites but with your stomach still queasy and unable to take anymore, you give the rest to the poorly named steed. Once the bridle and tackle are secure you mount up despite the instant outcry from your legs. You find Yoongi watching you, taking notice but remaining silent. You’re grateful for his lack of discourse, not wanting to have to explain the tenderness of your ass and thighs owing to yesterday’s travel.

Regrettably, the aches become worse, and after only a couple hours of riding you’re barely able to stay upright. If Yoongi’s arms weren’t circling around you to keep hold of the reins you would have slid to the ground long ago. It seems that he’s no longer able to disregard your comfort though. “Are you well?”

“Relatively speaking, yes.” You whisper holding in a groan.

“Relative to what?”

“Relative to a week ago.” To your time with Taehyung. You grimace further with each mounted stride.

“I think your scale is skewed. We’ll slow for a bit. Though you might think differently, I have no desire to see you in pain.” He slows his steed to a walk and dismounts, letting you lean back as he leads the horse forward.

“This is nothing I promise. We should keep the pace up.”

“You wish to be rid of me so soon? Even if it causes you agony?”

“Yes.” Your short reply is enough to make him pause for a second, his face splitting into an open smirk before he continues again.

“Though I appreciate your honesty, the horse could use a break too.” Yoongi chuckles darkly. “You’ll have to learn how to hold that tongue of yours again once you return to court.”

You take in a sharp breath as a chill runs down your spine. You’ve been so focused on what you are running from you haven’t given thought as what you are running too. “Do you know much about my family, about my life back home?”

“Some.”

“You said I was the last remaining heir. There must have been a time when that wasn’t the case.”

“Your brother...” Yoongi explains, his gaze fixed on the road. “He passed away a few weeks ago. He was very ill, had been all his life.”

You take a deep breath as you register the news, but it’s hard to properly grieve when you can’t recall what you lost. “I wish I could remember-”

Yoongi must be taking pity on you as he delves further without your prompting. “You loved him very much, but you weren’t as close as you would have liked to have been. His ailment was unknown to many and it prevented him from spending much time with you.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you told me.” He whispers, finally meeting your eyes again.

“Wh-what else do you know? Will you tell me?”

Yoongi shakes his head, “Give it time and you’ll remember on your own. His hold won’t last forever.”

“I still don’t understand why you won’t say more.”

“Because I don’t want to give you a false sense of your past, only to find out later that it was different than I thought, than I hoped. Your affection for your brother was obvious, but with other focuses of your adoration I cannot be sure. So please do not ask much of me. You’ve gone through enough, I have no wish to plant false regard for things you did not actually love.” While Yoongi continues to look up to you his expression takes a sudden shift. His nose lifts into the air and takes a deep breath, before his head snaps back at the road ahead. “Humans... four of them.”

Your heart leaps at the prospect, but Yoongi cuts your anticipation short. “Don’t get too hopeful. They are currently trying to conceal themselves on the path ahead. I doubt their motives are well intended.” He reaches up to tuck a lock of hair that had fallen out from your cap. “Stay on the horse and keep quiet. I’ll deal with them.”

“But-”

“For your own safety, please do what I ask.”

The trees growing around the road are thick and dense, your eyes dart between the trunks in hopes to catch movement, but with the forest cloaked in darkness you have little ability to find anything. Minutes pass and just as you are about to question Yoongi, you spot a man with tattered clothes lying in the middle of the dirt road ahead. Thinking he might be a victim of the others mentioned, you make an attempt to dismount. But Yoongi holds your hand firmly on the reins, while he calls out to the casualty. “The wounded traveller? Do people still fall for that?”

There’s a moment of silence before a man emerges from the forest to the left. “You’d be surprised,” he responds, while two more appear on the right.

The destitute wayfarer on the road gets up and dusts himself off. “It’s a shame you didn’t fall for our ploy, it’s much easier both for us and those who do, so much less blood. You look to be worth the effort though. I’m sure we could fetch a pretty penny for a steed like that.”

The four close in ranks and advance. Yoongi stays by your side, eyeing their approach, he gives a warning. “For your sake, I hope there will be no blood involved.”

“Is that a threat?” One of the highwaymen asks. “I should like to see how you plan on besting us without a blade.

The man closest to you, with a dagger drawn, reaches out to grab hold of your leg. “Come down off the horse lad. There's no point in putting off the inevitable, it’s ours now.” In spite of his weapon you ready to kick the man off, but before your foot can lay into him his grip is torn away. In the blink of an eye Yoongi is on the other side of the horse forcing the assailant to his knees with an arm behind his back. There’s a loud pop from the thief’s shoulder, resulting in a cry of pain. One of the other bandits charges to free his ally, his sword ready. Yoongi succeeds in dodging the initial thrust of the steel, and with one hand takes the saber, turning it instead on it’s owner. Your vampire escort issues another caution with the point at man’s throat.

“If you would like your friend to keep use of his arm then I suggest you all back away.” While the disarmed thief retreats backward with his hands in the air, the rest are frozen in place refusing to move. “You think I jest?” Yoongi’s grip tightens while his captive lets out a shout. The little effort used on the vampires part to make the man submit finally prompts his fellows to take two steps back. “I swore to my companion that no one would touch them on this journey. You’ve made me break that promise, and I am not pleased.” There’s a deep growl to his voice that sends chills through even you. “I should take this limb in payment, and maybe one from each in your party too.”

“Yoongi....” You whisper in a low tone.

He turns back to you with a slight smirk. “But you are lucky, my friend prefers mercy. It’s far more than you deserve.” Yoongi lowers his head muttering into the bandits ear. “I’ll tell you what. You may keep your arm, but you and your men will abandon your camp, head south and keep walking. You will tell no one of us, and if I ever come across your path again I will not hesitate to act on my threats.”

Yoongi releases the man allowing him to scramble away as he clutches his shoulder. The other three support their injured cohort as they run off.

Yoongi takes hold of the horse from the ground once again, leading you off the road. “Their camp it’s just this way. They might have had some supplies which will be of use to us.”

You only nod in response unsure of what to say, after what you just witnessed. The first humans you had interacted with in years, and here they intended to rob you.

The smoke of their smouldering fire draws you in. Yoongi’s hunch was right, they had a good deal of useful items. Rations for you, along with spare changes of clothes. He fills a bag and ties it on the saddle, leaving their stolen riches along with the blade behind for someone else to find.

He mounts up behind you again, carrying on forward for some time before speaking again. “Are you well your highness? You’ve been very quiet.”

You give him another nod, while chewing on your lip. “Why south?”

“That’s where my own clan’s territory lies. If they try to pull something like that again they’ll regret it.” He shifts in the saddle behind you, “Back there, I-I didn't scare you did I?”

You fall silent again, unable to confess he somewhat had, but also that the terror of your fellow mankind outweighed his by far. You fear the idea of having crossed them alone. They would have taken advantage of your mercy, who knows where you would be now if it weren’t for the self-proclaimed guard at your side.

Yoongi seems to take your lack of answer as confirmation of his worry. “I needed them to see me as a vicious monster, had they not backed off I would have had to become one. I’m sorry you had to witness the threat but it was necessary. I needed to terrify them for their sake and yours. I promise didn’t intend to frighten you, only to keep you safe. ”

...

Coming close to the break of day you find rest this time in a small abandoned house. The windows shuttered completely to prevent even the smallest stream of light from entering. Unlike the night before Yoongi doesn’t light the lantern. It’s so dark inside that he has to lead you to an empty space of floor for you to rest on. He takes a couple steps away, giving you some space before settling down himself once again between you and the door.

“I’m not going to run, you’ve made your point, or I should say the thieves did.”

“I don’t rest between you and the exit to keep you here, but to stop others from entering,” Yoongi explains. “These spots I’ve scoped out, I am not alone in using them. They are how my kind travels, some might have found different places to rest away from the sun, but I can tell that others have used this location. Don’t go examining your surroundings too closely, you might not like what you find.”

Now thankful for the darkness, you take your bed roll from Yoongi. “Rest easy,” he mutters as you climb in between in the blankets.

“Not likely,” you whisper back. “But thank you.”

Unfortunately you are correct, your sleep is once again disturbed by Taehyung. You catch a glimpse of his face before you're surrounded by him. The darkness holds you in a suffocating grip, your mouth slowly filling with blood. You struggle trying to breath reaching out to take a hold of anything that would pull you out.

A hand grabs on to the side of your face, another on to your arm. Finding the shine of Yoongi’s eyes once you're able to open your own, you gasp out to him begging for some sort of relief. “Can’t see... can’t breath...”

He picks you up only to set you back down on the floor a second later. There's a click and the front door opens to reveal a narrow shaft of sunlight. A single beam a couple inches wide, but it’s enough to dispel the darkness inside. Your eyes start to water, blinded by the light, but it’s far too warm and comforting to deny yourself the sight.

To your disgust there’s a lingering taste of blood in your mouth. Reminding you of the shackles that still bind you to Taehyung as it continues to overwhelm your senses. Yoongi’s voice flows from the darkness just to the side of the door, his eyes glowing like that of a predator’s. “I think you might have bitten your tongue in your sleep, your highness.”

He’s right, you find a sore spot as you press it to the roof of your mouth. You make an attempt to focus back on the sun. You sit there in silence letting your breath and heart return to a normal rate. All while Yoongi’s eyes continue to watch you, burning in the darkness. He apologizes for his gaze, but does not withdraw his attention, “Sorry but it’s been so long since I’ve seen someone bask in the sun. I’ve forgotten what it feels like myself...”

“How long?”

“I lost count around the century mark, but it’s likely been double that.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Yes, but I understand. Immortality is a large price to pay, and every monster must have an equal weakness.”

“But I suppose, not everything it repels is a monster.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrow as if he’s hiding a small smile in the darkness. “Dare I say, that sounds almost like a compliment?”

“Merely an observation,” you whisper, but your words trigger something inside you, a pain and longing which you can’t explain. “Yoongi, what were we to one another before...” Before Taehyung interrupted your life. “Please I know you don’t wish to speak for me, but I need to know your view of what we were.”

“We were friends, just friends.” He responds but you're not convinced, just friends do not wait outside the home of their enemy for five years. Just friends don’t put their entire life on hold for another. Just friends aren’t overwhelmed with the desires that seem to be returning to you now.

You’ve seen this expression on him before, you know you have. On the edge of your memories lies a dark cavernous stone built hall, one in which only you and him resided. You find him crumbling under the weight of what he is and what he’s lost because of that. Fragments of your words and his surface in your mind.

“You are not a monster Yoongi, I do not need saving from you!”

“If not from me, then at least from my kind. I cannot give you the life nor the safety which lies here... You would be better off if you forgot me entirely.”

You remember your wish to comfort him, to embrace him and prove that he has not lost everything because of what he is. With the recollection fading, falling from your grasp, you panic out of fear of losing the brief moment of memory. Closing the door you move towards Yoongi, the only focus you have of your previous life, hoping the scene in your mind might continue.

“I don’t need saving from you,” you mutter, blinded by the rapid loss of light, reaching out in an attempt to find him again.

He takes your hand and holds it, his cool fingers trailing soothing lines over the mark on your palm. “If not from me, then at least from my kind,” he responds, following the path of your dialogue from long before. “You remember our last meeting?”

“Only a fraction of it. I remember wanting to...” To confess to him, to kiss him, that was your past self was leaning towards. You thought well enough of him to desire an intimacy with one who feeds on others... that can’t be right. But even now you can start to see the appeal your younger self cared for. His soft touch on your hand, his calming presence, and protection, those are not qualities of a monster. And in the memory you were worried that he would reject your affection, that he would be the one to pull away, not you. “Did you ever desire to be more than friends?”

His eyes grow wide at your question, but his stance remains the same. “You know I will not answer that.”

“But this is regarding your feelings, not my own!”

“I will say no more of us. I’ve told you far too much already.” He leaves the topic at that, directing you to your present state instead. ”There’s a few more hours before sunset... do you think you’ll be able to sleep?”

You shake your head and move to sit with your back against the boards of the wall. Your reply is slow to come, and muddled with the first gasp of tears. “I can’t...” The prospect of closing your eyes again is too terrifying.

Yoongi comes to sit beside you, as he continues to hold your hand, his other arm wraps your shoulders as you let out the pain. A couple of hours ago you would have pushed him away out of fear, but with the spark of your past self craving his presence, who are you to deny the support it needs. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I have to keep my view from you. I don’t want to add to the damage that has been done.”

“There is not more damage that could be done. All I have to remember is a few months spent in agony and terror. How can I find comfort or rest when that is all I have? I have no knowledge of who or what made me happy, or of what dreams chased away the nightmares.”

“An adventure,” Yoongi mutters, his head bowed to the floor as he concedes with another part of your past. “You always dreamed of having an adventure.”

You let out a broken and weeping scoff, crestfallen that your ambitions to learn more only exposed a further divide. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Your parents were overprotective, because of your brother's condition. You were forced to keep to the castle, you just longed for something different.” His thumb rubs along the back of your hand as he holds it.

“But I don’t feel like one to see the risk of adventures as desirable.”

“You’ve been through much since then, fear has a way of changing what we want. I will admit I wished for you to be more careful back then, but never at a cost like this.”

“I don’t know if I will ever be that person again...” You draw your knees to your chest letting your head lull to the side and onto him.

“That’s okay,” His arm grips you tighter, as his face lowers to the top of your head. His lips briefly brush against your hair, before his cheek comes down to rest, taking their place. “That’s why I’m taking you home.”

...

#bts smut #yandere bts #yoongi x reader #taehyung x reader #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts reader insert #bts thriller au #bts vampire au #yandere taehyung #min yoongi #kim taehyung #min yoongi x reader #kim taehyung x reader #suga x reader #v x reader #bts blood bounty

3K notes · View notes

heart-of-gold-outlaw · 3 years ago

Text

Welcome Home | Chapter Ten: Still Breathing

Finally—finally—, the day comes to rescue Sean. You honestly don’t know what to expect. Most of the others in camp aren’t much help, referring to Sean with a roll of their eyes and something along the lines of: “half a mind to let the bounty hunters keep him.”

They should be saying that about Micah, you think to yourself as you watch Charles and Arthur saddle their horses. Maybe then Dutch’ll kick him out.

Still, Sean is a bit of a wildcard to you. You won’t figure out what he’s really like until you meet him, and until then, you decide to keep an open mind. Worst case scenario? He’s Micah’s long-lost brother. Best case scenario? He’s… well. Maybe it’s best not to think about all the things he could be. Keep yourself on your toes.

You sit on a tree stump while the boys get ready. Taima is an absolute beauty of a horse, and you can tell by the way Charles dotes on her that she’s got a good life. Briefly, thoughts of having a horse of your own cross your mind. That appaloosa gelding is probably still for sale in Valentine. Maybe if you can get enough money, you can buy him.

Arthur and Charles take their sweet time packing more than enough ammo, which means you quickly get bored. Every scratchy detail on the tree stump bothers you, too. Hopping to your feet, you decide to get some chores done. Everyone’s been so preoccupied with the big upcoming rescue, they’ve neglected some of the finer details in camp.

The ax is in its usual spot, surrounded by whole logs that need to be chopped. You grab ahold of the handle. It feels lighter than it used to, and you realize you’re getting stronger.

Goodbye noodle arms, you think as you bring the ax down on to the first log. You don’t quite split it, but it’s getting closer than ever. And hello Jack Lumber.

A few chops in, you feel the muscles in the back of your neck tense. Someone’s behind you, and you’re not quite sure who. But soon enough, a low, sinister chuckle reaches your ears. Micah.

“Well,” he says. “Looks like the camp nuisance is finally doing some work.”

You slowly count to three before turning around. Micah stands by you, a little too close for your liking, and he’s got a smirk on his face that twists your gut something awful. You’ve started wearing a gun belt, and the hand that isn’t holding the ax inadvertently twitches toward your revolver.

“You know something, Y/N?” He takes a step toward you. “I think you’re starting to wear out your welcome.”

Fire ignites in your chest. No. No. Micah doesn’t get to do this, try and make you second-guess yourself and your place in the gang—especially not after you’ve just started feeling comfortable.

“Back off, you useless mineral,” you hiss.

Micah’s lips curl into a snarl as he takes another step toward you. This one feels infinitely more threatening, and you barely keep yourself from taking a step back. You’ll be damned if Micah wins this fight.

“Take another step,” you warn, “and I’ll jump rope with your intestines.”

Honestly, you don’t really expect him to feel threatened, but the odd choice in words is enough to throw him off. You can see him trying to process everything you said, which gives you enough time to throw the ax down and skedaddle.

Your heart thuds frantically in your chest as you hurry to Arthur and Charles. Micah won’t try anything if you’re with them; that much, you know for sure.

“We ready to go?” You ask as nonchalantly as you can. “If I chop one more piece of wood, I’ll have to start wearing flannel.”

Charles looks confused at “flannel,” but Arthur frowns as he glances over at the chopping block. His expression hardens when he sees Micah storming away.

“Micah giving you trouble?” He asks, a hint of something dangerous in his voice.

“Nothing I can’t handle.” You go to lean against the hitching post, miss, and almost topple over. Face burning, you settle for folding your arms over your chest.

Arthur and Charles exchange looks.

“If he tries anything,” Charles tells you, calm and steady, “let us know. We’ll take care of it.”

We’ll take care of it. How a statement so simple and so general can sound that dangerous, you’ll never know. You wordlessly nod, not knowing how to respond.

Charles leaves, then, to go saddle Taima. You look to Arthur, ready to follow him to Florence, who’s already tacked up and ready. But he doesn’t move.

“Micah been buggin’ you a lot?”

You shake your head. “Not really. I mean, he gave me a hard time when I was cleaning up Pearson’s wagon a while ago, but Hosea scared him off.”

Arthur turns to look at you. “And today?”

“Oh.” You think back to the confrontation. “Well, he called me the ‘camp nuisance’ and said I was starting to wear out my welcome.”

A glint of fury flashes through Arthur’s eyes as he throws a glare in Micah’s general direction. You shiver involuntarily. Thank goodness you’re not on a certain cowboy’s bad side.

“I’ve been called worse, to be honest,” you say with a shrug, and smile slightly when Arthur looks at you again. “I’m kinda used to it.”

He gives you a troubled frown instead of sharing your nonchalance. Confused, you feel your smile waver a little.

“What?” You ask.

“You…” Arthur begins, trails off, then continues: “You know it ain’t true, right?”

“What isn’t?”

“The part about being a nuisance. You ain’t wearing out your welcome, either.”

Something pulls at your heart, something strong, and you’re suddenly at a loss for words. You’ve had so many doors slammed in your face, so many people come and go, never staying, never even wanting to stay… And you couldn’t do anything but watch them leave.

“Oh,” is all you manage around a tight throat.

Arthur looks at you some more. His eyes are soft now, soft and full of what you think is understanding. He reaches out, maybe to put a hand on your shoulder, but apparently thinks better of it and instead motions for you to follow him. You trail a little behind as he walks toward Florence. You ain’t wearing out your welcome, either. Did… did Arthur really mean that? Does that mean the rest of the gang, minus Micah, feels the same way? You can’t help but shake your head in wonder. You don’t think you’ll ever understand these people.

Once you catch up, Arthur easily swings himself on top of Florence, then hauls you into the saddle behind him. You’re starting to get used to horseback. Florence may be absolutely massive, but you don’t feel so unsteady anymore. In fact, you might actually like riding.

“We’re meeting up with Javier just outside of Blackwater,” Charles says as he brings Taima over. “Trelawney thinks the bounty hunters will bring Sean upriver.”

Arthur nods and sets a steady trot out of camp. “Good. We can probably cut ‘em off when they reach the border. I think there’s a canyon that’ll give us some decent cover.”

“Any luck, we’ll take them by surprise.” Charles urges Taima into a canter, which Florence matches. “How many do you think there’ll be?”

“For Sean?” Arthur laughs, and you try not to look too enamored. “Any pair of fools could handle him. But there’ll be a lot of ‘em, no doubt.”

Charles hums in thought, but doesn’t say anything else. Much of the ride passes in comfortable silence. Although you want to focus on admiring the scenery and marvel at the lack of, well, everything, you find yourself thinking about the upcoming fight. You may not know a lot about the past, but you’ve seen enough Westerns to know bounty hunters always put up a hell of a fight. That, and they always keep coming right when you think you’ve killed them all.

Your revolver suddenly feels heavy in its holster. You bite your lip, a little unsure. Yes, you’ve used it once at Six Point Cabin, and yes, you’ve managed to hit a few bottles, but those were honestly lucky shots. And neither of them were shooting back.

Bounty hunters, though? Different story. For as much bravado as you showed Dutch during his little tirade, you have to admit that you’re a little nervous. It’ll be your first real gunfight. You’ll have Arthur and Charles looking out for you, but you can’t help the anxiety knotting deep in your gut.

If I die, I die, you think. No going back now.

///

Conversation lags for the remainder of the ride. Eventually, after crossing a small river, you’re in what Arthur tells you is West Elizabeth. It looks… well, it looks like a perfect snapshot of a history textbook. Rolling hills and open land, bison… it’s absolutely stunning.

Off in the distance, you see two people looking over the edge of a cliff. You recognize Javier, but you don’t recognize the other man, with his mustache and mischievous eyes. He smiles when he sees Arthur and Charles, then peers at you curiously.

“And who might this be?” He asks as Arthur dismounts, leaving you alone atop Florence.

Your brain goes into a blue screen of death, and before you know what you’re doing, you say: “My name is an enigma and holds all the secrets of the universe.”

“That would be Y/N,” Arthur says, exasperated. He helps you down and grabs his rifle from the saddle. “Y/N, this is Josiah Trelawney.”

Trelawney bows with a flourish. “At your service, my dear.”

You instantly decide you like him. Waving hello to Javier, you approach the edge of the cliff, crouching low like everyone else.

“Sean?” Arthur asks as he looks down the scope of his rifle.

“I think he’s in that boat over there.” Javier gestures to a small vessel upriver. “Think they’re docking to take him further inland.”

Arthur turns the scope, then gives a hum of confirmation. “That’s him alright. Giving those bounty hunters hell.”

Trelawney nods and rises before mounting his horse. Setting a slow walk, he motions for everyone to follow him. Arthur helps you on to Florence, and then you’re off once more.

“If we do this right,” Trelawney says, “we can cut them off. Remember: we’re just innocent folk out for a ride on the trail. Let’s not draw their attention just yet.”

The five of you ride toward a canyon. Ahead, you can see the boat docked at the shore, along with several well-armed, intimidating bounty hunters standing guard. They don’t look like they’re in much of a mood to negotiate. In fact, they look ready to shoot on sight.

Everyone takes cover around the bend. Trelawney, odd man that he is, seems more preoccupied with his coat than the problem at hand.

“Now ain’t the time for a fashion statement,” Arthur drawls.

“Au contraire, my dear fellow,” Trelawney says with a smile. “Bounty hunters are even more gullible than hillbillies. I have to look the part if I’m going to make the proper distraction.”

Then, before any of you can say a word otherwise, Trelawney strides confidently toward the bounty hunters. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you just know he’s spinning a tale bigger than the Grizzlies. He waves his arms in a grandiose gesture. In another situation, you would have mistaken it for part of the act. But now, along with Arthur, Charles, and Javier, you recognize it for what it is: a signal.

Arthur fires a quick shot, striking one of the bounty hunters between the eyes. From there, it’s chaos. All you can hear is the sound of gunfire and shouting. You take cover behind a rock, firing your revolver without really trying to hit anything. You don’t know if any of your bullets find their marks. Honestly? Probably not.

“Let’s push up on ‘em,” Arthur commands.

You stick close by him as you make your way up the canyon. The bounty hunters have regrouped by now, which lets them put up more of a fight. A bullet whizzes by your ear—too close for you to ignore—and you yelp and duck further into cover.

Arthur quickly lays down some cover fire, then hauls you up and pulls you behind a larger rock. You don’t even have time to tell him thank you. The firefight picks up again, bullets flying, ricocheting, sometimes hitting their targets, sometimes hitting the canyon walls. It takes nearly all your self-control to keep a level head.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Javier reloading his guns, but also just barely peeking out of cover. You look up the canyon trail. There, off in the distance, half-hidden by gun smoke and dust, you can just barely make out the silhouette of a bounty hunter—and he’s aiming right at Javier.

You steel yourself. You’re not some useless coward who needs to be protected. You’re a member of the Van Der Linde Gang—an outlaw. And one of your own is in danger.

Your anxiety flees, replaced by determination. Edging ever-so-slightly out of cover, you fire off a shot toward the bounty hunter, then duck back behind the boulder. A pained yell tells you that you hit your mark, and it’s followed by silence.

Javier looks at the fallen bounty hunter, then at you. He nods his head in thanks. Smiling, you tip your fingers in a mock-salute, then follow Arthur as he pushes further up the canyon.

It doesn’t take long for your little group to reach a clearing. Right away, you see someone dangling upside down from a tree. He’s also surrounded by vicious-looking men who you would honestly rather avoid.

Well,you think to yourself. That must be Sean.

The bounty hunters have been expecting you, and they fire several warning shots into the tree line. You duck behind the trunk of a massive pine. To your right, you see Arthur considering the situation, trying to figure out the best approach. On your left, Javier and Charles wait on a signal. You don’t know what happened to Trelawney, but you think he’s alright.

“If we can get around them,” Arthur eventually says, “we can come at them from all sides.”

Javier grins. “Like shooting fish in a barrel.”

Charles gives him a look. “Only the fish can shoot back.”

Arthur nods, then looks back toward the clearing. “Someone’s gotta get to Sean quick as they can. I got a feeling he’s gonna be bait.”

“I’ll do it,” you tell him. “There’s enough cover behind that tree he’s tied up in. I’ll be fine.”

For a long, long moment, Arthur looks uncertain. But when you give him a pleading look, silently begging him to let you prove yourself, he sighs and folds the cards.

“Alright,” he agrees. “Wait until you got a clear opening, then go for it.”

Everyone heads off in opposite directions, leaving you to prepare yourself for the sprint of the century. One by one, the boys shoot the bounty hunters, hitting each with impeccable aim. Then, almost before you’re ready, you spy the perfect opportunity.

Making a beeline for Sean, you dive behind the tree just as the bullets start flying again. You sit there for a few seconds, catching your breath. You can’t believe you’re still alive. All that time in open space, and not a single scratch on you.

“It’s over!” You hear one of the bounty hunters shout.

He sounds dangerously close to you. Peeking around the tree, you see him standing not a foot away, pointing his rifle at Sean.

Shit.

You duck back into hiding before you’re spotted. This is exactly what you didn’twant to happen, and it happened anyway. Wracking your brain for ideas, you look around for anything that could be of use.

Think think think think think think—

There’s a corpse not too far from you, and you spy a knife on its belt. Moving purely on instinct and adrenaline, you snatch it from its sheath, turn back to the bounty hunter, and shove it through his throat right in the middle of his next sentence. He stays on his feet for maybe a second longer, then collapses.

You slowly back away from him. Dimly, you realize that the fire fight is over, that everyone else is okay, but you can’t bring yourself to focus on that. All you can do is stare at the body on the ground… the man you just killed.

“You alright there, friend?” Sean asks, still upside down.

“Uh,” your voice sounds far away to your own ears, “yeah. I’m fine.”

After that, you have maybe five seconds before your stomach lurches. Doubling over, you heave violently for a while before coughing, spitting out the taste in your mouth, and wiping your lips with the back of your hand.

“Hiya Sean. I’m Y/N.”

Accompanying Music: Still Breathing | Green Day

Ko-Fi

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #fic #welcome home

67 notes · View notes